


Push

by SeptimaBode



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Awkward Sexual Situations, Betrayal, Cheating Harry, F/M, HP: EWE, Ministry of Magic, Non-Consensual Touching, Sexual Content, Smut, Veela, Villains, Weird Plot Shit, bad things happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2018-12-19 20:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 111,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeptimaBode/pseuds/SeptimaBode
Summary: There's a thin line between love, hate, and accidents...all it took was a little push.





	1. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In the beginning, God created the heavens, the earth, and this annoying little swot that made me believe homicide was perfectly acceptable. – Draco Malfoy_

* * *

 

They were running, and Draco Malfoy hated to run. He didn't mind flying high amongst the trees and swooping low on his broom, but Hermione Granger had ruined all that. Instead, he was running, and sweating, and breathing heavy, and not because a delightfully sexy vixen was writhing beneath him. No, it was due to the fact Hermione Granger decided an approach through the trees would give them the element of surprise.

 

Draco’s mussed blonde hair whipped in the wind, and his cheeks were pink from the chill in the air. He dodged the spells being cast in his direction and grunted as branches poked and prodded his ribs. He expelled his breaths quickly and hurled curses with an angry snarl.

 

“Left!” He shouted, no longer caring if the bloody criminal heard him.

 

At least his partner listened and immediately veered left, while he circled around to the right. He heard a strangled shout but knew it wasn't her, as the sound didn't grate his nerves. Draco rounded the bend and was mildly impressed to see Rigby snarling and Disarmed.

 

“You bastard! Targeting children?! They’re only children!”

 

Draco clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes upon approach. Leave it to Hermione Granger to berate the escaped convict before ensuring his capture. It wasn’t any wonder as to why she had been assigned to the Hit Squad. She simply wasn’t cut out for interrogations. She was always allowing those pesky emotions get in the way of doing her job.

 

“Stupefy! Incarcerous!” Draco easily interrupted Granger’s angry monologue, with a flick of his wand.

 

“Malfoy, I had it under control.” Hermione hissed without turning, knowing it was him.

 

“We’re supposed to be capturing him, not boring him to death.”

 

Draco studied her. He vaguely wondered if she was aware there were twigs sticking out from her head. He noticed her ensemble was quite torn, and there was a smudge of blood on her cheek. He frowned, disliking the way she continuously turned from him.

 

“Are you injured?” It was customary to inquire as to her status, especially when she was riled, not to mention dishevelled.

 

Hermione stubbornly remained silent, despite the fact there seemed to be actual concern in his voice. It wasn’t the first time they were sent into the field together, and it wouldn’t be the last, she knew that now. Despite their differences, they worked well together.

 

She had fought against the assignment vehemently, but the Minister for Magic refused to yield. Hermione believed working alongside Draco Malfoy would be tortuous, but it wasn’t. He was incredibly intelligent and there was kindness hidden beneath the sarcastic quips.

 

“Aye, I almost had the little Mudblood slag, but you ruined it, bastard that you are.” Rigby laughed heartily, completely nonplussed by his current predicament, and smiled widely with his crooked, nearly brown teeth.

 

They had tracked the degenerate for days, and Draco knew the toll was wearing on Granger. Draco believed her to be entirely too sensitive but had had to admit the trail of Muggle children left in Rigby's wake was more than he could stomach as well. It reminded him of Death Eater revelries and he wasn’t the sort of wizard to enjoy reminiscing about his colourful past.

 

“Shut your filthy mouth, you animal.” Draco Malfoy’s heavy black boots repeatedly struck Rigby’s ribs, until the satisfying crunch shook him from his madness. “You don’t call her that.” Draco spat with venom, and his wand was shaking with the effort to refrain from ending the blight of humanity.

 

“Don’t, Malfoy. He’s not worth it.” Hermione hastily repaired the tears in her heavy black cargo slacks, and the slash in her cable-knit jumper.

 

“Does the little Malfoy have designs on the Mu-“

 

“Silencio.” Hermione flicked her wand, anxious to be out of the forest before nightfall.

“He didn’t…”

 

“I’m fine, Malfoy. I don’t know why you’re pretending to be so concerned, you’ve said worse.” Hermione yanked the twigs from her hair, scoffing as they were caught around her obstinate curls.

 

“Granger, it’s been two years, like it or not, you’re my partner now.” Draco sneered, yet the animosity of their childhood was absent as he hauled Rigby against a tree. “When the Minister for Magic assigns you the best mate of the Chosen One and his Sidekick, you learn relatively quickly to be concerned when injury is involved, if you value your life.”

 

“We better be going, it’s getting dark and…” Hermione quickly changed the subject, unwilling to venture into her reassignment.

 

“Yes, yes, I know you have an aversion to the dark. One day you’ll have to tell me that story. Come here, Granger. It seems you’ve got a love bite on your throat and I doubt Weasley would be pleased to see such a thing upon our return.” Draco pressed his wand to the obvious teeth marks, purple and bruising near the cusp of her shoulder. “Your defences were down if he managed to sink his teeth into you.”

 

“It happens, Malfoy. You’ve healed it. There’s no need to discuss it further.”

 

Hermione shivered from the chill in the air, and the magic warming her injury. She refused to admit Rigby had gotten the best of her, even for a moment. It had happened before, as it had happened to all members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but it didn’t make her feel much better about it. She berated herself, pleased that Malfoy didn’t break the silence, not even after they arrived back at the Ministry with their prisoner in tow.

 

“Oi, you lot are a disaster.” Ronald Weasley chortled happily while munching on what looked to be a pastry. “Muggle Ministry is bloody thrilled you caught Rigby. I can’t believe he was…”

 

"Shut it," Draco grunted.

 

He hadn’t the patience to deal with Weasley’s ramblings. While they were on somewhat friendly terms, the man rarely had anything of import to say. Draco simply wished for a hot shower, a meal, and to fall into bed. Perhaps, if he were lucky, he could cajole a witch that was easy on the eyes, for a tumble between the sheets.

 

“We’re tired, Ron. We’ve been chasing Rigby for days. I’m exhausted and I suspect Malfoy is as well. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d wager he wants the same things I do.” Hermione leaned into Ron’s side, and just managed to ignore the crumbs that landed on her shoulder.

 

"Hmm, Granger wants a shag, good to know." Draco winked and pushed through the doors leading to their offices on Level 2.

 

Ron, in his bumbling shock, choked on the bits of pastry still lodged between his cheeks, and Hermione simply sighed. She was used to Draco Malfoy’s antics, but Ron was still learning. It seemed he still had far to go, despite their friendliness.

 

"He's just trying to get a rise out of you, you should know that by now. I'm going to finish up my report and go home." Hermione kissed Ron's cheek and hurried through the door leading to her cubicle within the Hit Squad.

 

She paused the moment the heavy door clicked shut. The last thing she wanted to do was sit for hours in her cubicle writing her report, but she knew her dedication wouldn’t allow her to skiv off. Hermione took a small detour to the loo and splashed cool water on her face.

 

She grimaced as she studied the smudges of dirt upon her cheeks and the remnants of teeth marks on her neck. Hermione shuddered at the state of her unruly hair, and quickly tied it up, deciding it wasn't the time to pick foliage from her head. Her shoulders drooped, and her eyes closed for only a moment, but it was long enough for Rigby’s leering eyes to flash before her eyes.

 

Hermione squared her shoulders with the sort of determination that had been ingrained in her from youth and pushed the door to the loo open. She paused, as she heard quiet conversation stemming from the Hit Squad offices. There was something about the insistent voice that seemed familiar, but it took her a moment to realise it was Harry.

 

“How is she doing?” Harry Potter squirmed uncomfortably, but the question needed to be asked.

 

“Potter, why are you bothering me with such nonsense? She’s bloody Granger, she’s doing what she always does.” Draco Malfoy pulled on his blond hair and sneered at the dirt lodged beneath his fingernails. "She's absolutely infuriating, but she writes her reports promptly, which honestly I adore. You know I hate writing those fucking reports. She’s entirely too emotionally involved, but strangely, that doesn’t bother me as much as it bothered you lot over in the Auror Department.”

 

Hermione leaned against the corridor wall and listened to their conversation. She was shocked to discover Draco Malfoy paying her compliments in his round about way. He also wasn’t wrong. She _was_ too emotionally involved, but it was part of her nature.

 

The only reason she had ventured into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was due to an errant comment made by the late Nymphadora Tonks. It had stuck with Hermione, and in the face of all the death and destruction, she wanted to make a difference. She wanted to be part of the excitement that led to a safe world for both Muggle and Magic.

 

_“You’ve got good instincts, Hermione. You’d make a fine Auror, something to think about is all.”_

 

Those simple words rang with her as she saw loved ones fall to the wayside. They stayed with her when Voldemort fell. They reverberated within her as she aided in restoring Hogwarts, and she couldn’t resist the allure any longer. When the Minister for Magic had offered Hermione a position, she did not hesitate, though in retrospect she wondered if she should have.

 

Hermione knew it was ridiculously optimistic of her, but she couldn’t help it. She’d always segued toward the good in others, even as a young witch within the walls of Hogwarts. It had always bothered her that she had been slightly wrong about Draco Malfoy’s dealings, but he had changed in such leaps and bounds, what did it matter anymore?

 

"How is she adjusting though? I mean, it has to be difficult for her not working with us the way she used to. I know the transfer was hard on her, but Malfoy…" Harry mumbled the way he usually did when he was speaking about things that made him uncomfortable.

 

“Potter, you don’t need to explain yourself to me. If I’ve a choice in the matter, I’d rather you didn’t.” Draco slammed a book onto his desk and groaned. “Go away. Everything is fine. It’s wonderful. We’re the best of bloody friends, are you happy now?”

 

“Must you always be so difficult?” Harry shoved his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, in order to keep from grasping his wand in anger.

 

"Yes," Draco replied quite easily, the moment he spied an exhausted Hermione in the doorjamb with a frown. “Granger, come write these. They’re not going to write themselves.”

 

If Harry hadn’t been standing there, Hermione probably would have made a nasty retort and vacated the offices. Instead, she smiled sweetly and sat beside her partner. She barely graced Harry with a perfunctory nod as she pored over the tidy stack of parchment and lifted her quill.

 

“We’ll have these to you by the morning.” Hermione sat stiffly, and Harry knew it wasn’t the time to have the sort of conversation with her he wished to have.

 

“I don’t give a shit about the reports!” Harry shouted, causing Draco to chuckle at Potter’s obvious loss of temper.

 

“Well, if you’re not here about the reports, there’s no reason for you to be here, now is there? Unless of course, you only came to gossip about me with Malfoy here, I can’t imagine my very best friend doing something as underhanded as that.” Hermione tapped a quill against her bottom lip, and silently dared Harry Potter to speak truth.

 

Draco Malfoy was actually quite proud of her. Of course, he’d never say such a thing to her face, but the thought was there. It had been interesting to watch her grow, away from her counterparts, and this was one of those moments. He’d never understood their unhealthy obsession with being involved with every little facet of the other’s lives. It was unnatural.

 

Harry Potter stood there for a moment, silently sputtering, but his cheeks were flush with embarrassment. He didn’t like the way Hermione ignored him, or the way Malfoy and Hermione’s heads were so close together while they read the same piece of parchment. If he didn’t know better, he would have assumed they were involved in some manner.

 

He knew Malfoy and Ron had forged out some sort of civil behaviours, but that was all due to Hermione’s transfer. The Weasleys were thrilled to add another to their family, and it amused Harry to see the way Draco baulked over their fussing. He and Malfoy were still on unsteady ground, but their conversations weren’t nearly as biting as they used to be. It was progress, though to Harry it was still wrought with awkwardness, and Hermione didn’t make things better.

 

“Look, Molly expects you both for Brunch on Sunday, and you know there’s no dissuading her.” Harry pulled on his hair, and Hermione managed a small smile.

 

“Hmm, I suppose she’ll expect we wear our Yule gifts as well?” Hermione’s caramel eyes sparkled with mischief for the first time in nearly a year, and Harry nodded eagerly.

 

“Oh yes, she suggested it. She is thrilled with the idea of it and Arthur can’t wait to take some photographs with the Muggle camera you gave him last year. I believe the plan is to have a portrait done to hang in the lounge.” Harry winked with a snicker.

 

“Absolutely not. I refuse.” Draco stood and slammed his pile of parchment to the desk, with a flourish becoming a Malfoy. “You’re joking. They itch. They’re abysmal. I-I can’t be seen…”

 

“Breathe, Malfoy. Harry’s just taking the piss.” Hermione patted Draco’s hand, and she didn’t notice the way he stiffened beneath her touch, but Harry picked up on it and frowned.

 

Harry had fought Kingsley when the Minister had decided it was in everyone’s best interest to transfer Hermione to the Hit Squad. Part of it had been the fact he liked working with her, though he knew she wasn’t doing the Auror Department any favours. He loved Hermione, desperately, nearly obsessively, but he convinced himself it was a sibling sort of love.

 

He despised the way Hermione had so readily agreed to be partnered with Draco Malfoy, despite his objections. Even Ron had taken the news better than Harry. It didn’t have anything to do with the fact Malfoy had been an abysmal git when they were children, nor the fact he had been the worst Death Eater in the history of Death Eaters. It was more than that.

 

It was the fact that Draco Malfoy understood Hermione in a way Harry never would. Malfoy had read all the same books. He had interest in all the things that bored Harry to tears. They, Hermione and Draco, were intellectual equals, and where did that leave Harry? Well, it left him exactly where he always was, being the caring, slightly overbearing best mate, while she dated his other best friend and had camaraderie with Harry’s one-time enemy. Harry Potter didn’t like it, not one bit.

 

“Uh yeah alright then. I’m heading out. I expect I’ll see you lot bright and early tomorrow.” Harry shifted his weight between his feet, uncomfortable.

 

“I don’t think so, Potter. Shacklebolt, Granger, and I have a meeting with the Muggle Minister. I can’t recall his name, Granger what is it?” Draco yanked the quill from between Hermione’s fingers and commanded her attention.

 

“Blair. Anyway Harry, Kingsley is remiss to go alone considering what happened to that Minister for Magic years ago.” Hermione barely reacted to Draco’s interruption and simply lifted another quill to continue with her reports.

 

“Yes! That’s right. I wondered why he asked us to accompany him. Gods, I would have paid a million galleons to see that Thatcher woman attempt to toss Fudge out the window.” Draco sighed with contentment and casually tossed his arm across the back of Hermione’s chair.

 

Hermione glanced at him quickly, from the corner of her eye, but said nothing. Harry didn’t much like that either. There was an easiness to their relationship that hadn’t been there before, and it set him on edge. He made a mental note to mention his concerns to Ron.

 

“Harry, you’re scowling. Weren’t you leaving?” Hermione rested her chin on her palm and looked up at him questioningly.

 

“Are you…trying to get rid of me?” Harry attempted to smile, but it felt wrong his lips. He knew his words weren’t as light as he had intended either, but it was too late to alter such things.

 

“Frankly, yes. I’ve got this report to finish, and I can’t very well have Malfoy fill in the missing bits with your constant interruptions.” Hermione tossed her hands in the air, and her wild curls brushed against Draco’s cheek as he turned to look at her in surprise.

 

Harry’s hand tightened into a fist, and he struggled to keep from reaching for his wand. His green eyes darkened dangerously as he observed Draco grasp Hermione by the side of her neck with one hand. The Slytherin pushed Hermione’s hair down her back with the other and whispered something in her ear Harry couldn’t hear. Harry nearly snarled with fury when he saw Hermione nod slowly, and even release the tension in her shoulders.

 

“Potter, I don’t appreciate you riling up my partner at this time of night. Send Weasley down would you? Granger needs to go home and I believe you need to fuck off as well.” Draco quite enjoyed needling The Boy Who Lived. It hadn’t changed much from their childhood.

 

Harry bristled and the tension between grew into an awkward silence. Hermione ignored it the way she usually did and focused on the missing details in her report. The delicate warm fingers stroking the side of her neck aided in easing her distresses, yet she knew it riled Harry for reasons only he could explain. Of course, he was adamant in maintaining his feud with Draco Malfoy without expanding upon a reason and Hermione was no longer interested in discovering the truth of the matter.

 

“There you are. I can’t believe you’re still here. There’s dedication to your career, but this borders on insanity. D’ya have any idea what time it is?” Ron Weasley slammed through the doors, not even wincing when they crashed into the wall.

 

Harry Potter looked a bit triumphant the moment Ron appeared, but Draco and Hermione hadn’t moved an inch. In fact, Hermione’s cheek was resting upon Draco’s chest, and her eyes were closed. It was yet another thing that didn’t sit well with Harry, not that there was anything he could do about it.

He didn’t like the way Malfoy shifted in his chair, gathered a slumbering Hermione in his arms, and draped her across his lap. He didn’t like the way Hermione sighed and her arm dropped casually around Malfoy’s waist. He definitely didn’t like the way Draco bloody Malfoy smiled down at her with what looked like affection of all things.

 

“Weasley, take Granger home. We’ve a meeting in the morning and she’s never going to make it through her list of exceedingly boring questions if she doesn’t get a bit of sleep.” Draco spoke quietly while his palm smoothed the bumps in her jumper.

 

“Seems as though you’ve got the sleep portion of the evening covered, Malfoy.” Ron snickered, quite enjoying the utter and complete horror present on Draco’s usually apathetic features.

 

“Hmm yes, as lovely as it is to have a witch drool upon my shirt, I’d rather it not be someone else’s girl.” Draco squirmed, but delicately, so as not to wake his partner.

 

"Astoria then?" Harry was desperate to be part of the conversation, but the two sets of eyes baulking at his suggestion, caused him a bit of embarrassment.

 

"Are you mad? He can't bloody stand her, not that I blame him. Neville and I were just discussing all this at lunch yesterday." Ron rolled his blue eyes but made no move to retrieve Hermione.

 

“Speaking of Astoria, I’m to take her to lunch. I’d really bloody love it if you could provide a distraction. You know I’m not particularly fond of spending time with her in public.”

 

“Aw poor Malfoy has to court an insipid witch,” Ron snickered yet instantly frowned when he saw Harry and Draco staring at him. “Don’t look at me like that! I am capable of learning new words thank you very much.”

 

“Word of the day calendar?” Draco smirked and awkwardly adjusted the witch in his lip in order to distract himself from the feel of her soft breasts against him.

 

“You know what? You can entertain Astoria on your own. I’m sure your parents will be thrilled to see the Daily Prophet photographs of her fawning over you. Won’t take them any time at all to plan your wedding.” Ron crossed his arms in triumph as Draco’s grey eyes widened in alarm.

 

“I don’t even know why I’m friends with you,” Draco muttered angrily. “Fine, fine. It wasn’t the word of the day calendar I helped Granger choose for your last birthday. You’ve secretly been a studious wizard and no one has discovered your brilliance until now.”

 

“Git,” Ron huffed.

 

“Weasley,” Draco sneered.

 

It was all in good fun and not a moment later, the two chuckled together. Harry silently watched the exchange and shook his head. He wanted Malfoy to remain the incorrigible arse from their youth, but if Malfoy had managed to soften Ron Weasley and befriend him at that, Harry’s animosity was pointless.

 

"Alright well, at least choose a place that isn't going to be ridiculously obvious when I show up? Last time you chose that posh restaurant and I showed up in my bloody uniform." Ron grimaced and Harry wondered how often Ron and Malfoy have orchestrated interruptions of dates.

 

“Fine, but the Leaky isn’t going to cut it,” Draco spat with a customary eye roll.

 

“In that case, I’m going to need you to promise to accept mum’s invitation,” Ron grinned triumphantly.

 

“Ugh, fine, but I’m not wearing that fucking jumper.” Draco’s eyes quickly dropped to Hermione and softened as he watched her sleep. Harry’s eyes narrowed when Draco’s hand wandered to Hermione’s hip and he clenched his fist.

 

“I’m sure your father will be thrilled to discover his Muggleborn nemesis asleep on his heir.” Harry’s cringe worthy attempt to interject himself into an irrelevant conversation only raised the ire of both wizards.

 

“Harry!” Ron hissed.

 

"What the fuck is your problem, Potter?" Draco attempted to wake Hermione then, but she merely snuggled into his chest with a happy little sigh. "I'll have you know my mother is quite fond of Granger. She says she's increasingly impressed with Hermione's poise, despite her blood, which is a compliment from Narcissa Malfoy if there ever was one. If my father's opinions matter so much to you, send him an owl. I'm sure the two of you can drown your sorrows in firewhiskey while you discuss his disappointing son." Draco stood then, and even Harry was amazed at the wizard's grace as he hefted the sleeping Hermione into his arms.

 

He strode toward Ron and carefully deposited the witch in the other man's arms. Draco scowled at the wet spot on his shirt but managed to collect his cloak despite the irritation. It was second nature to shove the reports into his leather messenger bag, and then he magicked his desk. It would have been irresponsible to leave his and Hermione's workspaces penetrable to those outside the Hit Squad.

 

“G’night, Malfoy.” Ron didn’t bother saying a word to Harry, and Harry knew he had apologies to make, but he wasn’t ready.

 

Harry watched Draco collect his belongings and carefully set everything in its place, not only on his desk but Hermione's as well. He didn't have anything to say. He simply wanted to see Malfoy vacate the Ministry while Ron took Hermione away.

 

“You’re in love with her.” Draco paused near the exit, with a half smile on his lips, and a knowing gleam in his eye. “Planning on telling her?” Draco winked and left Harry to his own thoughts.

 

“You first.” Harry spat, but it took him a moment to realise that he was alone, and his reply didn’t make a bit of sense.

 

Harry didn’t like feeling off kilter, but that’s exactly what watching Draco and Hermione’s interactions had done to him. He wasn’t in love with her, even the thought was preposterous. Wasn’t it?


	2. 2

_Where’s Hermione when you need her?  – Ron Weasley_

* * *

 

Draco Malfoy pasted an aristocratic smile on his unwilling face and escorted Astoria Greengrass down the bustling cobblestone of Diagon Alley.  Despite the fact it was expected of him, Draco could only feign acquiescence for so long.  His father might be overly pleased with the match and sought to solidify an agreement, but his son had no such desires.

 

“Draco, you’re not even listening to me,”  Astoria tilted her head and sighed up at him sadly.  “We used to be quite good friends and now it’s as though you can’t even stand to be in the same room with me.  What happened to us?”

 

“What happened to us?  When exactly was there an us?  Do you really wish to do this now?”  Draco gestured toward the tea shop with an impatient grunt.

 

“Rosa Lee Teabag, really?  This is where you’re taking me?  I wouldn’t have bothered with one of my best gowns if I had known.”  Astoria sniffed with disdain and tossed her blonde tresses over her shoulder as she pushed through the creaking door.

 

“Not every outing forced upon us must be an extravagant display of Malfoy riches.  It would do you well to appreciate more and complain less.”  Draco nodded politely to the pretty little hostess and was relieved to see their table was not in a secluded darkened corner.

 

“What is the point of being richer than Merlin if you don’t flaunt it a bit?”  Astoria’s nose crinkled in distaste and she made quite a show of brushing the imaginary dirt from her seat before allowing her billowing teal gown to descend upon it.

 

“There is more to life than extravagance.”  Draco silently counted to ten and willed Ron Weasley to make an appearance.

 

“When I’m Mistress of the Manor, that’s going to change.”  Astoria primly folded her perfectly manicured hands in her lap and looked at him expectantly.

“I’ve already told you that’s never going to happen.  My parents might have their sights set on a Pureblood bride for their only son.  Your parents might be pushing for a quick engagement, but as for me?  I’m never going to marry you, Astoria.”  Draco perused the tea shop with a long, slow breath.  “At one time, we were friends.  I quite liked those days.  Yes, we dallied when we shouldn’t have and for that I apologise.  It seems the errors of my youth continue to follow me into adulthood.”

 

“Are you honestly trying to tell me you gave me the wrong impression when you were shagging me senseless?  Is that what I’m hearing?  You simply wanted to give a willing witch a tumble and I was convenient?”  Astoria’s voice grew shriller with every question and Draco winced but did not attempt to stop her.  “I-I’ve loved you and you don’t even care do you?”  She sniffled and he scoffed.

 

“The past tense usage of love really gripped me.  You’re not fooling anyone, least of all me.  You and I both know we had a good time and there’s nothing wrong with that.  Your father spoils you and therefore you expect everything you desire but rest assured, Astoria.  I am not included.  I cannot be forced.  I cannot be purchased.  I will not bend to my parents’ desires.  I did that once and look how well that turned out.”  Draco leant forward and braced his elbows on the tiled table and Astoria had enough sense to look sufficiently abashed.

 

They chose their selections in silence and Draco was grateful for the reprieve.  He knew it was a terrible idea to get involved with Daphne’s younger sister.  He knew it then and now it was being drummed into him on a regular basis.  He had once enjoyed Astoria’s company.  She was different then.

 

She had been willing to listen to his laments and they had forged what he had believed to be friendship.  Of course, the lines had become blurred over an entire bottle of Ogden’s finest and a rather forgettable shag.  Everything had changed afterwards.  Astoria had run off to her father with aspirations of being the next Lady Malfoy and refused to consider anything different.

 

“I’m not going to give up on us, Draco.”  Astoria reached for his hand and just as her fingers grazed his, he withdrew.

 

“Theo was absolutely gutted by our indiscretion.  He still loves you, and it’s cruel to toy with him the way you do.”

 

“Theo is a realist.  He knows I never would have chosen him if there was a chance with you.  He hasn’t the wealth or the influences that your family does, Draco.”  Astoria rolled her eyes and in that moment, he hated her.

 

“He loves you, why isn’t that enough?”  Draco slowly stirred the cup of tea presented before him and watched the tendrils of steam waft into the air.

 

“My family’s reputation is in ruins due to the War.  Not all of us were as fortunate as the Malfoys.  We couldn’t all escape unscathed with our endless galleons.”  Astoria dabbed the corner of her eye with the corner of a pale blue linen and turned toward the door.

 

Draco eagerly spun toward the door as he heard the tinkle of bells.  He nearly whooped with delight, but he didn’t wish to expose the ruse.  He was nearly giddy with excitement the moment Ron Weasley stumbled through the door, but his smile froze and his eyes widened when he saw Hermione Granger on his mate’s arm.

 

She was smiling and laughing, but she was not part of the discussed scenario.  Draco hadn’t expected Ron to bring Granger.  It was going to ruin everything.  Of course, it was too late and therefore Draco raised his arm in greeting as was expected of him.

 

“Hey, Malfoy!  Look, Hermione, it’s Malfoy.”  Ron’s exuberant voice rang out in the tea shop and Draco winced.

 

“Lovely.”  Astoria grimaced and dutifully attended to her tea.

 

It wasn’t the first time Ronald Weasley had happened upon them during one of their outings, and Astoria imagined it wouldn’t be the last.  She knew Draco was instrumental in these matters, but it was easier to feign ignorance.  It was the first time Hermione Granger had made an appearance, and this displeased her greatly.

 

Daphne had warmed to the little Mudblood quickly post-War and frankly, Astoria was tired of listening to the girl’s praises being sung.  Astoria didn’t care if Hermione Granger was a celebrated War Heroine.  She didn’t care if the bushy headed wretch was brilliant beyond measure and hailed as the brightest witch of the age.

 

Listening to Draco drone on and on about the woman drove Astoria to the brink of madness.  She much preferred the days when he resorted to grunting and grumbling.  Somewhere along the line, Draco Malfoy had become friends with the Mudblood and it was absolutely unconscionable.  It could not continue.  It would never do for the next Lady Malfoy to willingly associate with filth.

 

“Hello, Malfoy.”  Hermione’s quick smile faded as quickly as Astoria’s sneer appeared.

 

“Granger, Weasley,”  Draco gestured toward his surly companion with a quick hand wave.  “This is Astoria Greengrass.  Astoria, this is…”

 

“Yes Draco, I’m aware.”  She sighed with a small pout.

 

Hermione shifted her weight between her feet, but Ron wasn’t the least bit bothered by Astoria’s insolence.  He had never been particularly invested as far as manners were concerned and plunked into the chair beside Astoria with a lopsided grin.  He pointed to the empty seat next to Draco but Hermione rapidly shook her head.

 

“Come on, Granger, join us.”  Draco slowly stood and with exaggerated slowness scraped the chair across the dodgy tile.

 

Ron chuckled happily, which is the only reason Hermione sunk beside her partner.  She and Ron had had a lovely afternoon thus far and she didn’t wish to raise his ire.  He had always had a temper and while he had managed to keep a tight rein on it since their breakup, it was tenuous at best.

 

“Suffice it to say our preamble to courting has come to an end?”  Astoria’s eyes narrowed while Ron helped himself to the assortment of pastries a slow moving house elf had placed in the midst of the table.

 

“C-courting?  Malfoy I wasn’t aware you were…”  Hermione blushed as she paused.  “What I mean to say is, last we had spoken about it you had vehemently vetoed the idea.  I-I wasn’t aware it had changed so quickly.”  She patted the elf’s head as he set a cup in front of her and focused on the sticky bits of honey that dripped from the tip of her spoon.

 

“Don’t mind her,”  Ron eyed the elaborate tea service at the next table as his stomach grumbled audibly.  “Hermione prides herself on knowing everything is all.”

 

“Weasley,”  Draco resisted the urge to kick the man in the shin and turned toward Hermione.  “I am not courting anyone, Granger.  Do you really think I wouldn’t have mentioned it?  Merlin knows we bloody discuss everything else.”

 

Astoria observed their interactions with shrewd eyes.  It wasn’t blatantly obvious, their connection, but it was there.  She could see it in the way Draco looked at her.  She knew he probably wasn’t even aware of it, but she knew him better than he believed.

 

She intensely disliked the way he leant toward Hermione when she spoke.  Astoria was less than pleased to see the insufferable Gryffindor constantly touch Draco.  He didn’t even balk at her boldness, which irked Astoria immensely.

 

“Today’s outing is simply a precursor to solidifying the union between our families.  There’s no need to hide such things from your _friends_ , Draco,”  Astoria tittered quietly and smiled ever so sweetly.  “The service here is subpar.  My tea is cold.”

 

“I expect the proprietors realise we’re all witches and wizards.  Perhaps, they simply expect their patrons to utilise their magic on these delightful little inventions called Warming Charms,”  Hermione blinked slowly and tugged on the hem of her eggplant pencil skirt.

 

She wasn’t ordinarily a pernicious witch, but she had her moments.  Hermione was reminded of Lavender Brown and if she had a choice in the matter, she never wished to remember that particular witch.  The thought of Astoria fawning over Draco Malfoy and assigning him a hideous pet name caused her to choke on her tea.

 

Draco didn’t thump her back with harsh blows the way Ron always had.  Instead, he smoothed the wrinkles in her cream blouse with a practised hand.  He rubbed small circles along her spine until Hermione drew a full, yet ragged breath.

 

Astoria might have been adept at ignoring the way Ron Weasley shoved finger sandwiches into his gaping mouth, but her eyes missed nothing as far as Draco was concerned.  She grit her teeth in silent rage when he didn’t withdraw his hand from the Muggleborn witch.  She felt her cheeks flush with rage when Hermione smiled and Draco’s firm palm remained on the small of her back.

 

“They’re always like that.  You get used to it.”  Ron bumped Astoria’s shoulder with his own and smiled.

 

“I don’t believe I’d like to get used to it.  I’d much prefer if they would refrain from embarrassing me as well as themselves.  You must admit Mr Weasley, it is unseemly.  From what I understand, you and the Mu-Ms Granger have had quite a colourful relationship.  Do you approve of their _interactions_?”  Astoria tossed her blonde waves over her shoulder and ignored the whispering across from her.

 

“Relationship?”  Ron flinched away from the word as though it were something distasteful and vehemently shook his head.  “We’re friends.  We dated for a bit sure and my mum would be overjoyed if we were to make a go of it again, but it would never work.”

 

“Tell me why.”  Astoria feigned interest if only to learn more about the woman that seemed to have captivated Draco Malfoy’s attention.

 

“Hermione is really intelligent,”  Ron shrugged as he refilled his teacup.  “I’m not sure there’s anything she loves more than books and learning.  I’d rather watch a Quidditch match than open another book.  She loves theatre and obscure texts.  I love food and I’m not ashamed of it either.  She’s really headstrong and well, I am as well, but in all the ways that makes her absolutely batty.  We fought more than we did anything else,”  Ron paused and took a moment to watch Hermione and Draco bicker.

 

“They seem to disagree quite often.”  Astoria broke the corner off a shortbread biscuit and waited for Ron to continue.

 

“Well yeah, Malfoy’s not particularly easy to deal with, but their disagreements are lighthearted.  I mean just look at them.  Hermione looks really angry, but the corner of her mouth twitches, which means she’s trying really hard not to smile.  Malfoy is shaking his head, but he’s touching her hand, which means he isn’t nearly as angry as he’s pretending to be,”  Ron was so very proud of himself, which didn’t happen often.  “I’ve learned a lot about the powers of observation since becoming an Auror.”

 

“How on earth did Draco Malfoy befriend a Blood Traitor and a Mu-Muggleborn?  Draco refuses to broach the subject with me, but if the plans go accordingly, I’ll be the next Lady Malfoy.  It’s only fair that I learn as much as possible about his friendships.”  Astoria’s lip stretched into a welcoming smile that completely disarmed Ron.

 

He wasn’t used to dealing with beautiful witches smiling at him.  He was accustomed to being on the receiving end of scowls and jeers.  Ron simply considered it an occupational hazard and moved passed it.  He had spent too many years being filled with anger.  He wanted to be better.

 

“He saved my mum.  It’s not something he talks about, which I appreciate.  You’d think Draco Malfoy was still a snivelling, pompous git, but he’s not.  The War changed all of us, but most of all him.  His relationship with Hermione is different.  Neither of them will discuss the catalyst, but I think it had to do with the incident at the Manor.  I don’t think it’s possible to listen to someone scream the way she did and come away unscathed.”  Ron shook his head and his blue eyes closed for a moment as he sought to erase a memory.

 

Hermione and Draco grew quiet as they realised what Ron and Astoria were discussing.  Draco’s hand trembled and it was Hermione who drew his hand beneath the table and held it.  His fingers grazed her bare knee and she allowed it.  He laced their fingers together when her breaths grew laboured and he knew they wouldn’t be able to remain in the tea shop much longer.

 

“Don’t pay any attention to them,”  Hermione stammered.  “Tell me what Minister Blair had to say when I was off in the loo.  I’m sure I missed something important.”

 

Draco focused on the small expanse of skin beneath his fingertips.  He focused on the pressure of the warm hand within his own.  He loosened his grip in order to toy with the hem of Hermione’s skirt and she allowed him such liberties for the sake of his sanity.

 

“The Muggle piece of filth spent an exorbitant amount of time complementing your arse.  Kingsley brought you to distract Blair.  He also knew I would pitch a ridiculous fit, therefore he extended the invitation to me as well.  I’m sure the Minister regretted his decision when I drew my wand, but Blair was amused and agreed to joint efforts.”  Draco lowered his eyes and concentrated on the feel of fabric between his fingers.

 

“Draco refuses to speak of the War.  He claims the past belongs in the past and we should move forward.  I have attempted to move forward with him, but he keeps putting me off.  It really is quite frustrating.  How exactly are we supposed to build a life together and provide the next Malfoy heir if he baulks at the idea of properly courting me?  I am not a stupid woman, Mr Weasley.  Do you think I am completely unaware of the fact Draco has continuously orchestrated your timely arrival during our outings?”  Astoria seemed genuinely distressed as she dabbed the corner of her eyes, and Ron had never been capable of dealing with any witch’s tears.

 

“Look, it’s not your fault.  There isn’t anything that can be done about it.  Harry and Hermione have their secrets and I don’t bother myself with them.  They don’t concern me because they’re not about me.  You were too young to fight in the War.  There will be parts of Malfoy that you will never understand,”  Ron absently patted Astoria’s porcelain hand and was nonplussed when she withdrew as though she was burnt.  “I’m the sort of bloke that would prefer a witch that wasn’t involved in the War.  It’s part of the reason Hermione and I never worked out.  We’ve known each other since we were eleven, there’s no mystery left.  We know all there is to know and we share most of the same memories of the War.  She’s like Malfoy.  They need someone that understands all that.  We’re just not the right people for them and the sooner you learn that, the better.”

 

Astoria’s red lips parted to argue with him, but she had nothing to say.  It wasn’t a matter of properly understanding the new and improved brooding Draco Malfoy.  She wanted the honour.  She wanted the prestige.  She wanted her friends absolutely green with envy.  The impressive vault of galleons was a delightful perk, but she had plenty of money on her own.

 

The very idea that Ronald ‘Blood Traitor’ Weasley was more attuned to her intended than she was insulted her.  She huffed with displeasure and returned her attention to Draco.  Her cheeks were pink with outrage to see his forehead resting against Hermione’s.

 

Astoria’s fists clenched, in a small, yet noticeable display of gauche behaviour.  She surreptitiously gripped her wand beneath the tabletop, but it was Ron Weasley who just so happened to grasp her wrist.  His blue eyes were narrowed dangerously and his upper lip twitched with disdain.

 

“Let me go.  You see them just as well as I.  His actions are humiliating me.”  Astoria’s harsh whisper was nearly lost in Ron’s exaggerated cough.

 

“He’s having an episode you self-absorbed bint,”  Ron maintained his hold on Astoria and stretched his free hand toward Hermione.

 

“It’s alright.  You’ll be fine,”  Hermione muttered the words continuously, despite the fact they were drawing curious glances.

 

“Hermione, you should really get him out of here.  We’re drawing a bit of a crowd and you know how much he hates that.”  Ron leant forward to whisper and Astoria sneered angrily.

 

The intrigued whispers had grown into concerned murmurs the moment Draco Malfoy closed his eyes.  The sounds around him were muffled at best, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before his breaths were constricted and his chest ached with a familiar pang.  He concentrated on the feel of warm hands against his cheek and ignored everything else.

 

Draco’s eyes opened only to quickly slam shut as the room spun around him.  He attempted to draw a full breath, yet managed nothing more than a wheeze.  He leant heavily on Hermione, knowing it was she only by the faint smell of old parchment.

 

“I should take him to the Manor,”  Astoria murmured as she hurried after Draco and Hermione.

 

Astoria left Ron to pay for the sparse meal and concentrated on separating her intended from the Muggleborn.  She flinched away from the flash of camera bulbs and shrieked in outrage.  The Daily Prophet correspondent was supposed to capture an instrumented moment between Astoria and Draco, instead, it would be Draco desperately clinging to Hermione Granger, and that would never do.

 

“No!”  Draco choked on the word and held the slight witch that much tighter.

 

“Are you mad?  He’d never willingly return there.”  Hermione’s temper flared and Ron knew if his mate hadn’t been holding her partner aloft, wands would have been drawn.

 

“The Burrow,”  Ron interrupted quickly as the gathering of witches and wizards had grown.  “Take him to the Burrow.”

 

Hermione’s blush lips pressed together, which was the only indication of her displeasure.  She nodded curtly and withdrew her wand.  She didn’t ask as to Astoria and frankly, she didn’t care what happened to the uppity little wretch.  Hermione had tried to be nice for Draco’s sake, but Astoria Greengrass was nothing more than a spoilt, selfish Pureblood and Hermione hadn’t the time, inclination, or patience to placate a child.

 

Ronald Weasley waited until Hermione Disapparated with Draco before he turned his attention to Astoria.  The younger witch amused him.  In fact, she reminded him of Draco when they were all children.  She was catty, petulant, judgemental and a definite elitist.  She’d never worked a day in her life, and she probably never would.

 

She would sit on her arse, sip tea, and order about quivering house elves.  She would marry well, though Ron couldn’t imagine it being for love.  She was empty and that thought made Ron feel sorry for her.  Of course, Astoria was completely oblivious and focused on the best way to inform her parents she had not secured a promise of courtship.

 

“I can’t believe this has happened to me.  I don’t expect you to understand,”  Astoria sniffed as she drew her silk scarf around her throat.  “You’re Pureblood, but it’s not as though your family adheres to…well anything really.  Now, where is this hovel you call the Burrow, it’s up to me to tend to Draco,”  She buttoned her overcoat swiftly and tapped her fashionable peep toed heel impatiently.

 

Ron scratched his head and completely mussed his hair.  He didn’t even flinch in the face of flashing cameras and questions being shouted in their direction.  While he couldn’t say he was particularly fond of being dubbed a celebrity, it wasn’t nearly as horrid as Harry Potter made it out to be.

 

“Yeah uhm, I’m not bringing you to the Burrow.  I’ve been nice enough and uhm, I’m done now.  I’m fairly certain you’ll be able to find your own way home.”  Ron tucked his wand into the front pocket of his drab slacks.

 

Astoria Greengrass stamped her foot angrily and dug her pale pink fingernails into Ron’s forearm before he could saunter away into the crowd.  For the first time in her life, she didn’t paste a faux smile on her lips and pose for the correspondents.  She was a whirlwind.  She was a fiery blaze of rage.

 

“How dare you?  She didn’t…she didn’t even take him to your mother, did she?  I’d dare to wager that filthy little Mudblood scurried him away from me.  She’s jealous.  She wants him for herself, which is ridiculous.  He’s Draco Malfoy and she’s…”

 

“She’s Hermione Granger,”  Ron interrupted.  “She’s a celebrated War Hero.  She’s the brains behind the Golden Trio.  She’s everything you’ll never be and you can’t stand that can you?”  Ron guffawed loudly and was quite pleased with himself when Astoria blushed furiously.

 

“I’m Pureblood.”  Astoria pursed her lips as though her simple statement was the only explanation required for her abysmal behaviour.

 

“It doesn’t mean nearly as much as it used to, now does it?  I mean, let’s think about it alright?”  Ron tapped his forefinger against his lips and pretended to think things over.  “I’m Pureblood and you don’t hold me in high regard.  Hell, if you really put your mind to it, you’d realise that being Pureblood isn’t the most wonderful thing in existence considering a fucking War was fought over it.  This is a new world, Ms Greengrass.  You’d do well to remember it.”  Ron tipped his imaginary hat and flung Astoria’s hand from his arm.

 

“You’re a bit of a bastard.”  Astoria hugged her arms around her midriff and scowled unhappily.

 

She retreated from the startling blue eyes that roved over her covered form.  She didn’t enjoy being on display for wizards she considered less, and Ron Weasley definitely qualified as less.  Ron snorted and enjoyed her unease more than a little.

 

“You’re a horrible person, but you’re sexy as hell.”


	3. 3

_ “Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic.  Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.”  – Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore _

* * *

 

Molly Weasley bustled about the Burrow as though it was any other day, and to her it was.  She hummed as she set the dishes to wash and the brooms to sweep.  She tied a dingy cream apron around her plenteous waist and smiled.  
  


Her reddish hair might have significant amounts of grey.  She might have been forced to bury one of her sons.  She might have nearly been killed in the midst of the Final Battle, but still, she persisted.  She wasn’t the sort of woman to allow grief and fear to drag her down into the doldrums of despair.   
  


Molly plucked a rickety wicker basket from the corner and placed it on her old, yet loved table.  Her feet felt light as she packed up a few sandwiches for George.  She knew he hadn’t been eating well and Molly knew nothing perked him up better than a good home cooked meal.   
  


“Mum?!”   
  


Molly shook her head with a joyous smile and pretended her youngest son’s shouts didn’t make her cringe.  She was determined to remain happy and not even Ron could ruin it.  She set her shoulders back and packed George a few apple tartlets as she waited for Ron’s lumbering steps to clod through her clean kitchen.   
  


“There you are!  Didn’t you hear me shouting for you?”  Ron snatched a rosy red apple from the wire basket hanging over his mother’s head and took a large bite.  “Where’s dad?”   
  


“Ronald, I’ve asked you numerous times to stop slamming doors and speaking with your mouth full.  I suppose I’m wasting my breath, but what sort of mother would I be if I didn’t try?”  Molly’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled and finished packing George’s basket.   
  


“Sorry, mum.  Where is everyone?  I expected Malfoy to be complaining about subpar accommodations and Hermione chattering endlessly about something boring, but it’s incredibly quiet.”  Ron’s brow furrowed as he tilted his head and waited for the welcoming sounds of his childhood home.   
  


Arthur ambled down the steps with his faded red hair mussed and his robe askew.  His satisfied smile made Ron’s breakfast feel like a boulder resided in his stomach.  He swallowed with difficulty and turned to face his mother who was back to humming.   
  


“Lovely day, isn’t it Ronald?”  Arthur ruffled his son’s hair and stepped toward Molly to kiss her cheek.   
  


“Oh gods, you…you…I’m going to be sick.”  Ron hastily drank his tepid tea and choked on the remains of a piece of bacon he had snatched from the heaped plate on the table.   
  


“Don’t be ridiculous.  There is nothing wrong with your parents having a healthy se-”   
  


“Don’t say it!!!!”  Ron leapt from his chair and winced as it toppled over and clattered.  “Where are Malfoy and Hermione?  Please tell me you didn’t…do what you did while they were here?”   
  


Molly snapped her tea towel and Ron winced away from the sting.  He quickly righted the chair and perched on the edge warily.  He couldn’t look at his parents without feeling slightly nauseous.   
  


“They aren’t here.  Why would they be here?  Hermione and Draco seemed perfectly content in her flat last evening after that unfortunate episode of his.  I do hope he’s faring better this morning.  I sent George to give them some Potion for Dreamless Sleep with strict orders for them to head straight to bed.  I expect Hermione will send an owl later.”  Molly busied herself with fixing Arthur a platter of breakfast delicacies and lingered as she kissed his cheek.   
  


“You sent George?  Why would you do that?”  Ron’s blue eyes bulged but it didn’t stop him from shoving a sausage between his lips.  “Their own beds, right mum?”   
  


“Of course,”  Molly tittered and offered a small half shrug, “As for George, why wouldn’t I?  He was here when the owl arrived and your father and I were-”   
  


“Mum, please stop talking.”  Ron groaned and his parents indulged his theatrics.  “I have to go.”   
  


“I wouldn’t suggest visiting Hermione without warning her first.  From what George told us, they were quite…comfortable with each other.”  Molly giggled and blushed which only made Ron’s breakfast determined to make a reappearance.   
  


“He looks ill, love.”  Arthur perused the Daily Prophet and sipped his tea with amusement.   
  


“Well, that’s just silly.  He should be pleased.  Why it was just the other day he was telling me how perfect they are for each other.”  Molly finally sat beside her husband and buttered a thick slice of fresh bread with a sigh.   
  


Ron shook his head.  His mind was filled with images and now the images swirled together.  He lurched to his feet and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.  He moaned as his imagination toyed with him.   
  


“Tell me you gave George one of  _ your _ Potions.”  Ron was not above pleading but the confused frown marring his mother’s smile made his stomach twist.   
  


“I hadn’t any.  George said not to worry and he’d take care of it.  I don’t understand all the fuss.  It’s just a bit of Potion.  Draco really should keep a supply on hand, especially if he’s intending to court that Greengrass girl,”  Molly huffed and her distaste for the pretty blonde witch was obvious.   
  


“He’s not going to court her!  Don’t say things like that.  I’ve got a plan.  I just don’t need bloody George interfering.  His antics will ruin everything!”  Ron shoved his wand into his back pocket and kissed his mother’s cheek.  “I’ve got to go.”   
  


Molly and Arthur watched their youngest son storm from the family home and returned their attention to their breakfast.  Arthur grunted as he read about the latest Wizarding attacks in Muggle London, while Molly mentally planned dinner.  They were used to the hustle and bustle of the Burrow but found quite a bit of enjoyment in the silences.   
  


“Did you understand anything our son was rambling about?” Molly wiped her hands on her apron and looked to her husband.   
  


“Not a word, love. But then it is Ronald. Come on then, set the kitchen to clean itself.  I’m not finished with you yet.”  Arthur playfully swatted his wife’s bottom and made his way to their bedroom with a promise in his eyes.   
  


* * *

 

Draco Malfoy was sweltering.  He cracked his eyes and moaned quietly as the morning sunlight stabbed his eyelids.  He felt as though he was suffocating and it took him a moment to realise there was some sort of knitted concoction over his head.  He squeezed his eyes shut against the soft fabric and sighed.   
  


The warm pillow beneath his head shifted and he inhaled deeply.  He shoved his hand beneath the pillow to draw it closer and gasped in surprise.  It wasn’t a pillow at all, it was skin.  Gooseflesh freckled skin and from the feel of it, a thigh no less.   
  


Draco pushed the afghan off his face and glanced down.  He was sufficiently wedged between lightly tanned thighs and his hand was grasping a delectable arse cheek.  The cotton shorts covering the intimate bits was soft, to say the least, and it was then that the memories of the previous evening revisited him.   
  


Things seemed to get a bit fuzzy once he recalled being brought to Hermione’s quaint flat.  It was more feelings and sensations than actual conversation.  He recalled soft, soothing whispers and collapsing on a comfortable settee.   
  


There were also vague recollections of a potion being pressed to his lips and a warm hand against his cheek.  Draco fervently hoped Astoria hadn’t forced her way into the Burrow and removed him.  He was displeased at the notion that it was her thighs he was nestled between until the body beneath him shifted and sighed.   
  


“It’s too early.”  A decidedly feminine voice moaned.   
  


A hand stretched toward his face and grasped the afghan.  Draco frowned when his head was once more covered in granny squares laden with flowers.  However, the insistent hand also shoved his head against a slightly exposed abdomen as her knee bent and thrust him impossibly closer to the floral knickers peeking through the hem of indecency short nightwear.   
  


Draco froze when her fingers threaded through his blond hair and drew him closer.  He waited until her breaths had deepened once more before he exhaled.  He wasn’t uncomfortable and his thought was to simply close his eyes and go back to sleep.  His grey eyes drowsily closed, but then she shifted and his nose grazed her navel.   
  


He was curious now and resisting temptation had never been his strong suit.  The familiar sighs and muted words alerted him to the fact he was reclined upon Hermione Granger.  It was quite a compromising position, which didn’t bother him.   
  


Draco licked his lips and swallowed.  The aftertaste of the Dreamless Sleep Potion was different and he nearly chuckled against the enticing skin, but he didn’t wish to ruin the moment.  If he had had complete control of his facilities, he never would have willingly accepted a Potion from bloody George Weasley.  It seemed Granger was still entirely too trusting, even after all these years.   
  


He knew he should arise and perhaps set the kettle to boil.  He knew she’d eventually awaken and be utterly and completely embarrassed by their compromising position.  He also knew she’d flush and avoid him for days on end and if she was going to do that regardless, he might as well toy with her for a bit.   
  


Draco assumed Hermione would properly awaken the moment his fingertips scraped across her inner thigh, but he was wrong.  She sighed and stretched with a content smile upon her lips, but he didn’t see such things as he was focused on the freckle peeking from the edge of her knickers.  His conscience was wreaking havoc with his thought processes and he nearly removed himself from the situation…nearly.   
  


“Granger,”  Draco licked his lips, which was a mistake as it only caused his tongue to drag along the enticingly warm thigh.   
  


Hermione’s brow creased with the beginnings of a frown as she heard her name being called.  It sounded so very far away and she wasn’t ready to face the day.  She was warm and content for the first time in ages and she wasn’t going to allow anything to ruin it.

  
“Fuck Granger, please wake up.”  He blinked and nearly shuddered as he slowly withdrew his hand from beneath her arse.  
  


“Malfoy?”  Hermione groaned and tossed her arm across her eyes.  “Why are you here?”   
  


“I don’t know.  I assume you brought me here after that disastrous tea.”  Draco rubbed his cheek on the soft cotton of her shorts and smirked as her breath hitched.   
  


“Why are you down there?”  Hermione squeaked.   
  


“I fucking woke up here,”  Draco growled.  “I tried to get up, you shoved my head down and told me it was too early.”   
  


Hermione’s hands flew to the settee and she attempted to sit up, but that seemed to make everything worse.  The weight of his body against her legs stunted her movements.  She gasped when his hand latched onto her thigh.   
  


“You’ve got to move.  I’ve got to move.”  Her chest was covered in a light sheen of sweat and a dark blush, but Draco’s attentions were focused on her knickers.   
  


“I don’t think I want to move now,”  Draco breathed.   
  


“Well, if you just let my leg go I can shimmy out and,”  Hermione inadvertently bucked her hips and Draco released a long groan.  “Oh my gods, you can’t do that, not there.”   
  


Draco’s nose brushed against the tiniest scrap of cotton and it was torture.  His eyes were locked onto the space between Granger’s shorts and knickers.  He wanted to stroke it.  Hell, he wanted to taste it.  Instead, he rested his head on her left thigh and pushed her right leg until it fell completely open.   
  


“Granger, why have we never shagged?”  Draco squeezed her thigh and his thumb was precariously close to the lace edge of her knickers.   
  


“Stop being ridiculous and sit up.  We’re partners.  You’ve never seen me that way and I don’t expect you to.”  Hermione sunk her teeth into the corner of her lips and closed her eyes as her body betrayed her.   
  


“Oh, I’ve seen you that way.”  Draco’s whisper was intoxicating and Hermione barely flinched when she felt his finger smooth the fabric of her knickers.   
  


She knew she should probably be shouting at him.  She definitely knew she should leap from the sofa and lock herself in the washroom.  She knew she should do something, but she didn’t.   
  


She felt his warm breath against her skin and her knickers dampened.  He tugged on the apex of her shorts and she held her breath.  She whimpered as he pressed into her knickers with small tentative circles.   
  


Hermione laid completely still.  Her skin was on fire and she was so aroused it was nearly embarrassing.  She felt him adjust and suddenly there was a warm hand beneath her shirt and grasping her breast.  She flinched in surprise when he chuckled at her hardened nipples.   
  


“Your knickers are soaked through, Granger.”  The vibration of his voice caused her to moan as he tweaked what he was certain was a dusky peak.   
  


Nonsensical noises escaped her parted lips the moment Draco lifted her sodden knickers from her skin.  The gentleness of his touch was maddeningly slow yet it drew her excruciatingly close to the precipice.  Every stroke, every touch set her on fire.  Her legs shook and droplets of sweat dripped down the back of her neck, but Hermione didn’t care.   
  


Draco focused on delicate touches and slid up Hermione’s prone body.  Her breasts were completely exposed and glorious.  Her hips began to move and just as his lips lowered to suckle at her breasts she fluttered around the fingers he had slipped inside.  He stroked harder and faster until the end upsurged into another beginning.   
  


Hermione dug her fingers into his hair and yanked quite hard.  Draco shrugged and removed his hand only to replace it with his covered bulge.  He removed his lips from her breast with a pop and placed his forehead against hers.  They simply gazed at each other in silence until Draco tugged her shorts down her legs.

  
“Malfoy, I don’t know if we-”  Hermione bit her lip and it was obvious she was torn.  
  


Draco sat back and tossed her knickers and shorts to the floor.  He quickly shimmied out of his boxers with a wink.  He managed to control the teasing smirk when he watched her eyes widen, but just barely.  He covered her body with his own and revelled in the sigh of longing she released.   
  


“Why?  Why does this keep happening to me?”  Ron Weasley burst through the front door of Hermione’s flat and immediately covered his eyes.  “It wasn’t bad enough I nearly caught my parents.  My mum was humming and dad was half-dressed for Godric’s sake.  No, it seems that wasn’t enough punishment for Ronald Weasley today.  Now I see my best mate between the thighs of my other mate and they’re starkers.  They’re completely starkers!  I’m going to kill George.  This wasn’t supposed to happen at all!  Would you get off her?  I’ve got the antidote.  You’ll feel right as rain in no time, I swear it.”   
  


Draco closed his eyes and imagined his hands wrapped around Weasley’s throat.  It didn’t stop the throbbing of his cock, but it made him feel better.  At least, it made him feel better until Granger began to cry.   
  


“Shit,”  Draco swore, “Granger, don’t cry.  Weasley, get the fuck out until we’re presentable.”  He waited until the door slammed before returning his attention to Hermione.   
  


“It’s not real,”  She sniffled.  “It wasn’t real and I-”   
  


Draco patiently waited for her to continue, despite the fact they were wedged together absolutely nude.  He remembered the strange aftertaste of the Potion he had been given but had chalked it up to his mental state.  The overwhelming lust had dissipated the moment he awoke Hermione, but he didn’t know how to tell her that.  He didn’t know if he  _ should _ tell her that and decided against it after the onset of fresh tears.   
  


“You what, Granger?”  He attempted to keep his cool façade firmly in place, yet it faltered.   
  


“It doesn’t matter.  We should dress, Ron is waiting for us.”  Hermione refused to look at him and he didn’t much like that.   
  


“So does that mean you don’t want me to do this then?”  Draco squeezed her breasts together and teased each peak quickly.   
  


He flexed his hips with a smirk painted on his lips as Hermione realised their position.  He dared her to refuse him as his length brushed against her wet folds.  It would have been so easy to slip inside her and fuck her into oblivion, but he didn’t.   
  


Draco climbed off the settee without regard for his nudity.  He tossed the afghan over her nudity and picked his clothes up from the floor.  His cock slapped against his stomach and it ached with frustration.  The old Draco would have immediately Floo’d to Astoria, bent her over, and shagged her until neither could stand.  He cursed the new Draco and slipped on his boxers as Hermione scurried from the sitting room.   
  


“Tell me you’re decent.  I could go the rest of my life without seeing your pasty white arse again.”  Ron stepped back into Hermione’s flat with a hand firmly latched over his eyes.   
  


Draco grunted and it was more than Ron expected.  He carefully peeled his palm from his eyes and sighed with relief.  Draco was angrily shoving his arms into his button up and Hermione was nowhere in sight.   
  


“I can’t be here,”  Draco muttered.   
  


“Eh, Hermione won’t emerge from her bedchamber for hours.  She’ll spend forever thinking about the implications of her actions, then she’ll soak in a bath and think some more.  We could sit in the garden and eat breakfast pastries.”  Ron shrugged and Draco didn’t feel like arguing with him.   
  


“Why are you here?”  Draco began as he slathered a croissant in freshly churned butter ala Molly.   
  


“I brought the antidote,”  Ron slammed the tiny phial onto the bistro table and gestured wildly for Draco to consume it.   
  


“I don’t need it.  The bloody potion wore off er-”  Draco paused as he realised he had revealed more than he should have.   
  


Ron leant back in the wrought iron chair and glowered at his mate.  It didn’t escape his attention that Draco’s cheeks were slightly pink.  He had numerous suspicions and it seemed now was the time to discover the truth.   
  


“Malfoy, do you fancy my girl?”  Ron braced his elbows on the table and stroked his chin.   
  


“She’s not your girl.  I was fairly certain she had made that abundantly clear just before she was transferred to my department,”  Draco happily poured a liberal amount of milk into his coffee and popped a piece of croissant into his mouth.  “Oh come off it, Weasley.  We work together.  We argue more often than not.  You and she weren’t terribly well suited, but neither are she and I.  She’s impossible.”   
  


“Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice,”  Ron rolled his eyes.  “You didn’t answer the question at all.”   
  


Draco rubbed the back of his neck and Ron nodded knowingly.  The tension between them was obvious to everyone but them and perhaps Harry.  Ron knew Harry would be an issue, yet there were bigger problems than Harry’s imagined affections.   
  


Ron was nearly positive their constant banter was a precursor to foreplay and based on what he’d seen their barriers were slowly dissipating.  Of course, they would pretend nothing had happened and blame their actions on George’s stupid potion.  It was really frustrating to be mates to two people who were as stubborn as they were brilliant.  He decided it was time to test the waters with a few underhanded Slytherin measures.   
  


“What’d the one-eared bastard lace the Potion with anyway?  It wasn’t Lust, otherwise…well, I’m sure you would have walked in on much more than my delectable arse,”  Draco winked and sipped his coffee.   
  


“Inhibition,”  Hermione interjected angrily.   
  


She tied her frumpy dressing gown tightly at her waist with narrowed, angry eyes.  She marched toward the bistro table and snatched the phial from near Draco’s hand.  She ignored the sting of her skin when it grazed his and quickly downed the contents.   
  


“Apparently, we’re late.  Molly is demanding brunch, today of all days.”  Hermione tossed her hands in the air and wobbled on her feet as the Potion cleared her muddled mind.  “Gods, I’ve never felt so humiliated.  We are never to speak of this, do you understand me?”  Hermione didn’t wait for a response, she spun on her heel with her toffee curls bouncing and stomped back inside.   
  


“I think it would be best if you gave Molly my regrets,”  Draco’s eyes never wavered from the back door and Ron almost felt sorry for him.   
  


“What is it you want, mate?”  Ron knew he was absolute shite at comfort, but he had to try.   
  


“I want,”  Draco quickly finished his coffee and watched the small flock of birds overhead.  “I want to trace her scars with my fingers and remind her that her imperfections are the reasons why she’s beautiful.”   
  


“Oh yes, but the Potion wore off, sure it did.  Shut up and drink this before you embarrass us both.  I’m going to leave before you regain your regular surly personality.  Mum expects you, don’t disappoint her.”  Ron shook his head and gently placed another phial on the bistro table.  “Idiots, the lot of you.”   
  


Ron didn’t bother to say goodbye to Hermione.  He knew she was busy berating herself and he had listened to that sort of nonsense for years.  It wasn’t his job any longer and hopefully, it never would be again.  It was all a matter of cunning.  He knew the perfect wizard to give him aid and with a smile, Ron Disapparated.   
  


Draco barely registered Ron’s departure as the Potion worked its way through his system.  He shivered as the gentle fog clouding his thoughts dissipated.  It didn’t take long f or his upper lip to twitch in disgust directed toward himself.   
  


“What the fuck have I done?”  Draco’s head fell into his hands.   
  


He winced when his elbow struck the edge of the bistro table and groaned internally.  Bits and pieces of the previous evening alerted him to the issue, but it was the morning’s activities that caused him the most discomfort.  Draco couldn’t even say it was unenjoyable, it wasn’t, and that was the problem.   
  


“You’re thinking about it.  Stop it,”  Hermione flounced into the back garden with a cup of tea and a scowl on her pink lips.   
  


Draco avoided her narrowed brown eyes and focused on the crumbs remaining on his small plate.  There really wasn’t anything to say.  They had engaged in questionable actions and while sincerely pleasing, blurred the line between partners and friends.   
  


Perhaps the lines had been blurred for longer than either of them realised, but to have the memories so fresh caused an awkward and tense silence between them.  Frankly, Draco was having difficulty erasing the images of Hermione’s breasts, but it wasn’t as if he could share such lascivious thoughts with her.  Hell, he’d probably never share his current thoughts with anyone as he was disgusted and quite aroused.  It was entirely too conflicting for his tastes.  
  


“I think it would be best,”  Draco began.   
  


“If we never spoke of this again?  Yes, I quite agree,”  Hermione’s dark curls bounced as she stared into the distance.   
  


“Granger,”  Draco purred, “I wasn’t going to say that at all.  In fact, I was going to suggest we alleviate the tension by finishing what we started.”   
  


There was something incredibly satisfying about the violent blush that warmed her cheeks.  Draco crossed his arms with a self-satisfied smirk and watched Hermione squirm.  He leant forward and tugged on one of her curls.  He didn’t like the way she refused to look at him.   
  


“Malfoy, don’t,”  Hermione’s cheek inadvertently leaned into the gentle touch, but she quickly righted herself.  “We’re friends.  At least, I like to think we’re friends.  You’re a bit surly at times and your sense of humour is definitely something that takes some getting used to, but…”  Hermione paused and Draco knew she was suffering an internal battle.   
  


“But I shag everything with a pulse and despite the attraction and tension between us, you’re stubbornly unwilling to cross the invisible line you’ve drawn between us,”  Draco waved his aristocratic hand airily and rolled his grey eyes heavenward.   
  


“It’s only proper, Malfoy.  We work together and it would be completely unethical to venture into anything more than friendship.  Such things have a tendency to interfere with one’s ability to properly do their job as well as-”   
  


“Come off it, Granger,”  Draco angrily stood and glowered down at her.  “As if you’d ever let anything interfere with your ability to do your job?  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with releasing a bit of tension.”   
  


Hermione stood up and the small bistro table crashed on its side and sent the remaining tea service shattering around their feet.  Her fists were tightly clenched, but the fire in her eyes was sincerely alluring, at least to Draco.  He resisted the urge to snatch her to him and stayed his ground.   
  


“Release some tension?  Is that all it is to you?”  Hermione poked his chest harshly.  “It isn’t and I’m worth more than being just another witch in a long line of women discarded by Draco Malfoy.”   
  


Draco flinched away from her fury momentarily as he considered her words.  There was an underlying message there, he knew there was.  She never said anything without careful consideration.  She hadn’t denied the attraction, which was something significant he supposed. 

  
“Your worth is the issue then?”  Draco taunted her and watched her eyes widen in alarm.  “Interesting.  I suppose if I courted you properly you wouldn’t take issue with relations.  Is that what I’m hearing, Granger?”  
  


“You’re being ridiculous,”  Hermione huffed.  “Your parents have handpicked your wife and you know it just as well as anyone else.  Despite the fact Astoria drives you barmy, you’ll marry her.  You’ll do your duty and no one will think poorly of you for it.  There’s no need to pretend there’s any other choice in the matter.  I am not one of those simpering simple witches who is willing to fall at your feet with your honeyed words.”  
  


Hermione spun on her heel and managed to walk quickly toward the back door.  She couldn’t bear to look at him any longer.  She had been humiliated and if George Weasley knew what was good for him, he would avoid her for every day he drew breath.  Draco Malfoy was never an option for her and she didn’t want him to be.  She’d rarely entertained a thought of him as anything more than a passing fancy.  The conflicting emotions that pooled in her abdomen were nothing more than the side effects of a Calming Draught laced with Inhibition.  Her subconscious was a traitor and it was nothing more than that.   
  


Hermione paused as Draco called to her and she could hear the smirk painted on his lips, though she did not turn.  “That wasn’t a no, Granger.”


	4. 4

 

_Were you dropped on your head as a child?  You can’t possibly be this stupid.  – Hermione Granger_

 

* * *

 

The days melted into weeks and before long, the Unintentional Indiscretion was a vague memory.  At least, that’s what they continuously told themselves as they avoided the subject altogether.  Hermione buried herself in paperwork and Draco was happy to let her do so.  
  


Of course, he was forced to avoid Molly Weasley as he would Filch, considering he had offered nothing more than excuses when it came to Brunches at the Burrow.  Draco knew Molly was an astute witch and it wouldn’t take her long to piece together the uncomfortable little puzzle between himself and Hermione.  She considered them both part of her family now and unrest was completely intolerable.  
  


Thus far, Molly had resisted the urge to send a strongly worded Howler, as her mother’s intuition was working overtime.  It wasn’t like Draco Malfoy to continuously send his regrets and she wouldn’t stand for much more of it.  
  


* * *

 

“Quick, hide!  Potter’s wife is on the loose!”  Draco bellowed into the sea of cubicles littering the Hit Squad, pleased to see his workmates scatter like insects.  
  


“You’re overreacting.”  Hermione shook her head and continued to write yet another report.  
  


“Am I?  Mrs Potter was particularly put out to discover her husband was late returning home last week due to his lingering conversations with _you_ .”  Draco shoved Hermione’s parchment into her messenger bag, and literally dragged her from the department.  
  


He didn’t have time to get them to the Floo Network, therefore the best he could do was an abandoned office near the lift.  Draco left the office door cracked in order to watch Mrs Potter march down the corridor and slam into the Hit Squad.  He winced as the door bounced into the wall, silently thanking the rush of luck that allowed him to catch the lift prior to her arrival.  
  


“I could talk to her-”  Hermione sighed impatiently and only wished to return to her reports.  
  


“Not bloody likely.  You might not realise it, Granger, but she absolutely detests you.  I think you’re the only witch alive that doesn’t realise your best mate is in love with you, but that’s none of my business.”  
  


Draco cringed as the words tumbled out of his mouth, immediately realising his error, but it was too late.  It was easy enough to snatch Hermione around the waist before she barreled into the corridor.  He should have known better.  Hermione Granger was the sort of witch that wished to immediately correct all the wrongs in the world.  
  


“I have to speak with her.  You’re wrong Malfoy, Harry and I don’t feel that way about each other.  She should know that.  Gods, she’s so ridiculous, I don’t know how Harry puts up with her.”  Hermione struggled a bit, but Draco’s hold was true.  “Why on earth did he marry her?”  
  


“You weren’t available,”  Draco hissed.  “Are you dating Weasley?”  Draco’s warm breath tickled Hermione’s ear while she attempted to peer through the slit in the door.  
  


“What?  Now isn’t exactly the time to discuss my romantic interests.”  Hermione cringed as angry screeching could be heard from across the corridor.  
  


“We need to distract her, and last time-”  
  


“Last time you kissed me, and I spent the rest of the day explaining to Ron why it had happened in the first place.”  Hermione pushed against his chest, but Draco didn’t budge.  
  


“It worked, that’s the point, Granger.  Fuck, here she comes.  I’m fairly certain she’s spotted your bloody hair,”  Draco cringed away from the mussed curls, his upper lip twitching with distaste.  
  


Hermione was suddenly aware of his warm breath against the side of her throat, and his hard chest beneath her fingers.  It wasn’t a matter of attraction; she’d have to be a fool if she didn’t acknowledge the fact Draco Malfoy was very easy on the eyes.  His personality, on the other hand, left much to be desired, and despite their working relationship, he grated on her nerves like no other.  
  


“Hermione?!  Is that you?!”  The very loud and very angry Mrs Potter stomped toward the abandoned office with narrowed eyes and a drawn wand.  
  


In a moment of desperation, Hermione yanked on Draco’s grey pinstriped tie and smashed her lips to his.  Her intentions had only been to press a chaste kiss to his lips, as they had done previously, but Draco had other ideas.  Perhaps it was the heat of the moment, or perhaps it was some subconscious form of attraction that fueled him.  Regardless, Draco’s teeth nipped Hermione’s bottom lip and his hands went slack around her waist before fisting the fabric of her skirt on her hips.  
  


Hermione felt the slight breeze as the office door swung open, but she didn’t open her eyes, though she wondered when they had closed.  She couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of her heartbeat, and perhaps a few breathy gasps.  She had to admit, Draco was an accomplished kisser.  
  


He didn’t force his tongue between her teeth and aggressively maul her until she either complied or shoved him away.  Instead, he teased her, kept her wanting more, therefore it was she that slanted her lips across his and opened her mouth.  Hermione felt the palm of his hand beneath the hem of her blouse, low on her back, but it was an angry huff that finally drew her back to reality.  
  


“Ron is going to be so disappointed in you.  He wanted you for years.  I mean, even when we were dating it was Hermione this and Hermione that.  It was enough to drive a girl mad, but I managed.  To tell you the truth, I always had my eye on Harry anyway.  Ron wasn’t much of a loss, but for you, it would be devastating.  Draco Malfoy isn’t going to sully his bloodlines with a Muggleborn witch, even if she is Hermione Granger.  You’re wasting your time warming his bed sheets.  I won’t inform Ron this time, though I don’t know why I should do you any favours.  He deserves better.”  Lavender Brown Potter shook her blonde curls with a sniff and left Hermione and Draco in the abandoned office.  
  


Hermione’s cheeks were a lovely shade of pink as she attempted to extricate herself from Draco’s grip.  He held her still and rested his head in the crook of her shoulder.  She supposed he was just as mortified as she was, but she desperately needed a small modicum of space between them.  
  


“Please stop squirming.”  Draco sounded pained, which only caused Hermione to sigh and roll her eyes until a shift of her hips made her thighs brush the front of his trousers.  
  


Her velvety brown eyes widened with realisation, which only caused her more embarrassment.  She stiffened and concentrated on the feel of the office wall at her back, rather than the smooth fingers still lingering on her skin.  Her arms slowly unwound from his torso and hung limply at her sides, while she waited in silence.  
  


“I’m sorry.”  Hermione finally broke the awkward semi-silence with a lame apology.  
  


“What the fuck are you sorry for?”  Draco was nearly his regular charming self and pushed her into the wall as he released her from his hold.  
  


“I don’t know.  It seemed appropriate.  Ron never had that sort of reaction from a bit of snogging.”  She shrugged, unconcerned with the workings of the male libido.  
  


“Well, he should have.  I don’t particularly care for you, but you’re a hot piece of arse, Granger.”  Draco winked, but it was quickly wiped off his arrogant face with a resounding slap.  “That’s twice.”  He spat, with curled lips and platinum hair falling into his eyes.  “The next time you slap me, expect retaliation.”  
  


Hermione desperately wanted to slap him again, but there wasn’t a bit of logic in such thinking.  She spun from the office and hurried down the corridor without another word.  She could barely formulate proper thought, and nearly considered vacating the Ministry to avoid Draco.  Of course, she wouldn’t, Hermione knew she wouldn’t.  She was entirely too dedicated to her job, but the thought was still there.  
  


“Granger, where’s Malfoy?  There’s been another.  Assemble a team.”  Theodore Nott looked her over curiously, but with a trace of distraction.  
  


Hermione pointed and Theo nodded curtly.  He noticed her eyes were a bit red.  Her lips were plump, swollen even, and her usually perfect ensemble was mussed.  It was a curious situation for her, and he had a sneaking suspicion Draco Malfoy was at least partially to blame.  He remained silent until he nearly walked into Potter and Weasley.  
  


“Oh good, you’re here.  Team of six.  Dispatch to Nottingham.  I can’t bloody find Smith, so send for Longbottom would you?”  Theo didn’t wait for a reply, instead, he turned his attention to the rumpled blond vacating an office near the lift.  
  


“Nott.”  
  


The silent conversation between the two Slytherins was disconcerting to watch, at least it was to Harry and Ron.  They might have been busy shrugging into their Auror trenches, but they were observant.  They noted Draco’s mussed hair and rumpled black shirt with interest, but Theo was pushing Malfoy into the last office on the left to hold one of their private talks.  
  


“You kissed her again.”  Theo crossed his gangly arms across his thin chest and leant on the door with a scowl.  
  


“Lavender fucking Potter was making a monumental scene, and!  I’ll have you know, I didn’t kiss her.   _She_ kissed _me_ .”  Draco puffed his chest, quite proud of himself, but Theo wasn’t fooled.  
  


“You suggested it.”  Theo’s eyes narrowed knowingly.  
  


“That’s not the point.  The point is that she implemented the suggestion.  Has there been another Muggle issue?”  Draco quickly changed topic, as it looked as though Theo Nott was geared up and prepared to head out on a case.  
  


“You’re not getting away with this that easily, but yes there has.  Minister Shacklebolt is sending in a team of six.  We’re to leave in thirty, gear up.”  Theo smiled, his dark eyes dancing with delight, but Draco knew their conversation was far from over.  
  


It didn’t help his denials when Ronald Weasley burst into the office with Harry Potter close behind.  Draco braced himself for a brawl, but Theo was quick with his wand and disarmed the Aurors without issue.  
  


“You kissed her, again.”  Ron didn’t sound particularly angry, but that didn’t mean much.  
  


“Brown was causing quite the ruckus, and I really wish everyone would get their facts in order before accusing me of misdeeds.   _She_ kissed _me_ .”  Draco’s fingers scraped across his scalp in a futile attempt to compose himself.  
  


“Yeah, she told me that.  The Hit Squad is a fucking disaster.  I don’t know why Lavender is on a bloody rampage, but this is getting ridiculous.”  Ron sighed and shook his head, and Theo smirked as he detected the way Weasley was avoiding Potter.  “ _I’d_ kiss you if it would make her shut up.  Alright, are we going or not?  Hermione is changing into her gear, and I’m pretty sure she’s gathered yours, Malfoy.  She’s a bit rattled, which isn’t like her.  You lot need to suss out your priorities.  Bloody snogging in order to avoid Lavender is ridiculous.”  
  


“Y-you’re not angry with him?!”  Harry Potter’s narrowed green eyes were filled with hate, which didn’t surprise Draco considering their stilted relationship.  
  


“Harry, we’re not together.  It isn’t my business as you both are so fond of informing me.  Now you want me to be angry?  Perhaps you should be angry with your stupid wife for blasting apart Hermione’s reports.  There’s an idea!”  Ron waved his hands angrily, and Harry flinched.  
  


Theo snorted, while Draco looked downright horrified.  Harry might have looked slightly chagrined but it didn’t cause his fury to abate much if at all.  He had honestly believed Ron would be the angry bloke and he’d be calming down his mate.  It’s how it had always worked between them, but add Draco Malfoy to the mix, and it seemed the entire dynamic was askew.  
  


“I’m still amazed Potter chose Brown.  He had the entire Wizarding World at his feet, and he chooses to settle down with his mate’s obsessive ex.”  Theo snorted, knowing he was causing a bit of trouble, but he was Slytherin, and such things were expected.  
  


“Ginny dumped him, and Lavender is _really_ , really good at comfort.”  Ron’s crooked smiled seemed completely out of place, considering Harry’s face was devoid of colour.  
  


“Ron!”  Harry punched Ron’s arm, wanting nothing more than the oblivious redhead to shut up.  
  


“What?  She is!  The girl can gobble a cock let me tell you and-”  Ron had a dreamy expression on his freckled face, as he stared off into the distance.  
  


“That’s disgusting.”  Hermione Granger flung open the door with disgust written upon her usually serene expression.  “Are we going?  Neville’s to meet us in the Atrium.”  
  


Theodore Nott was the first to admit Hermione Granger was deliciously attractive when she was angry.  She wasn’t what he’d consider a gorgeous witch, but she was pretty if one was only glancing upon her outward appearances.  Her passion for nearly everything is what made her beautiful.  
  


She had tied her hair onto the top of her head, and Hermione’s toffee curls had been tamed as they swung against her back.  Her Hit Squad gear was the same as every other member’s, but the fact she wore a white button-down blouse beneath her inky black sweater was endearing, at least to Theo.  Hermione’s black cargo slacks tapered to her form, and Theo spent more than a moment admiring the comely shape of her arse.  
  


“Stop looking at her like that.”  Draco elbowed Theo in the ribs just as the lift opened.  
  


“Did…did Lavender really blast my reports?”  Hermione gazed between Theo and Ron, with a slouch to her shoulders.  
  


Theo didn’t miss the way Draco sidled behind Hermione, but he kept his thoughts to himself.  He stroked his pointed chin and made a mental note to bait Malfoy at a later time.  His nondescript brown eyes looked to Hermione and nodded curtly.  There was no need to say anything more.  
  


“I’m sorry.”  Harry moved to put his arm around Hermione’s shoulders, but she shoved him.  
  


“Get away from me.”  Hermione whipped her wand from her thigh holster, but it was Draco who lowered her arm.  
  


He tucked her into his chest and despite the curious eyes, he allowed the upset witch to draw comfort from him.  Draco wasn’t the sort of wizard that was used to physical contact, yet over the years, he had come to accept it from Hermione.  It didn’t matter how many times he glowered at her, she bloody well hugged him when she felt the need.  
  


“It’s alright.  I have impeccable notes.”  Draco slowly backed her into the corner of the lift, and his soothing tones were quite disconcerting to the others present.  
  


Hermione nodded and while her anger was slowly dissipating, the need for comfort was still high.  She didn’t usually receive nor seek comfort from her partner, but Draco understood her need for precise order in her life better than Harry or Ron ever had.

  
“What’s going on there?”  Harry prodded Theo, but it was Ron that answered.  
  


“Honestly Harry.  We’ve worked beside Malfoy for what is it, five years now?  He’s been Hermione’s partner for nearly three of those years.  He saved my mum.  He knows Hermione just as well, if not better than we do.  She’s obviously angry because Lavender destroyed her reports, yet, she’s also conflicted in displaying her anger because you’re married to Lavender.  She’s not going to seek comfort from me, because let’s face it, that boat has sailed, yet it’s completely unreasonable to expect Hermione to just carry on.  She needs a moment to assess the situation, and Malfoy has provided her with a bit of relief because he’s just as mental as she is when it comes to their addiction to hard work.”  Ron tossed his hands in the air with complete exasperation.  
  


Thankfully, the lift doors sprung opened before Harry could utter another ridiculous question.  Neville Longbottom met the team near the Floo Network, his thin lips set in a hard line.  He nodded his greeting and turned to Theo.  
  


“Listen, Nott, I’m doing this as a favour.  I’ve already submitted my resignation, and the Minister has accepted it.  This is my last mission.”  Neville quickly buttoned his Auror trench as he offered Draco a tight smile.  
  


“Finally got accepted for that Apprenticeship then yeah?”  Theo clapped Neville on the back lightly with a grin.  “I’ll be sad to see you go.  All right then,  we’ll leave in teams of two.  Potter, you’re with me.  Weasley.  Malfoy.  Uhm, Longbottom, why don’t you stick with Granger.  Your Portkeys will take you to the location.”  Theo was brisk with his commands, like always.  
  


The Aurors didn’t usually bend to the orders of an Investigator, nor did the Hit Squad, but this was a different sort of situation.  Theo Nott was well versed with the initial case and had a rapport with the Muggle Minister.  Kingsley Shacklebolt had appointed Theo as point on the case, due to the Muggle Minister’s request, and the rest of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had fallen in line.  
  


“Is there a dossier?”  Hermione Granger finally managed to pull away from the comforting embrace of Draco Malfoy, yet she hesitated to relinquish her position beside him.  
  


“You’ll receive it on site.”  Theo thrust a rusty key into Neville’s hand in order to force Hermione to accept his assignments.  
  


Hermione hurried forward and touched the key.  It was impossible for her to catch her breath when she was hurtling through the air, but she tried.  She had once closed her eyes tightly, but that hadn’t ended well.  She landed solidly, though she dropped to one knee out of habit, as her fingers itched to draw her wand.  
  


“I wonder what happened.”  Hermione mused as she carefully surveyed their whereabouts.  
  


“I don’t know.”  Neville pulled a few broken twigs from his hair and sighed.  “I don’t really understand why we’ve been called on in the first place.  It isn’t anything horribly upsetting, really.  The first time was an insane amount of ale delivered to the Family and Alcohol Services.  I just considered that bad taste really.”  Neville tucked his wand into the front of his slacks and leaned against a nearby tree.  
  


“It amused Ron to no end, but not as much as the urine filled balloons.  I do think that was his favourite until the little boy tossed one in his direction.”  Hermione squinted in the sunlight and realised they were in an alley near yet another NSPCC location.  
  


“Why do you think they keep targeting Child Services?  Why don’t we have services like this in the Wizarding World?  You’d think after the War, they’d want to take care of their orphans or something.”  Neville peered into the distance and snorted.  “Looks as though Nott and Harry have arrived.  Harry looks angry, but, it seems there’s a fair amount of smoke coming from that window there.”  
  


Hermione and Neville carefully made their way toward Theo and Harry.  They hadn’t seen Ron or Draco arrive and assumed they were delegated elsewhere.  Hermione kept a wary eye on the slow gathering of Muggles near the entrance and signalled to Theo with a small wave.

  
There were more than a few shouts, and the heavy metal door nearest Harry burst open.  Heavy clouds of black smoke filled the air as the Muggles spilt out of the building.  The cacophony of gasps and coughing drowned out Theo’s direction, but Hermione and Neville were able to surmise Ron and Draco had entered the building.  
  


It didn’t stop Hermione from racing after him, and it was Harry that grabbed her arm.  She struggled with him for a moment and nearly drew her wand, but Neville was quick to intervene.  
  


“Hermione, stay here.  There are people that need attending.  Nott’s gone inside to see to the source of the smoke and to retrieve Malfoy and Ron.”  Harry sounded quite authoritative, but Hermione could see right through him.  
  


“You’re not my boss, Harry Potter.  Theo said to follow him, didn’t he?  He shouldn’t be in there alone.  Your friend is in there.  My bloody partner is in there, and I’m not staying out here.  You tend to them, Harry.”  Hermione nearly growled at him, but Harry didn’t release his hold.  
  


“Harry, let her go.”  Neville Longbottom drew his wand surreptitiously and prodded Harry’s back, none too gently.  
  


Hermione ran the moment Harry’s fingers fell slack, and she held her forearm, knowing it would bruise.  She pushed through the stumbling men and women, while she shouted for Theo and Draco.  She continued into the building and was nearly blinded by the hot, thick smoke, hoping the Aurors would attend to the Muggles.  
  


Hermione knew the rigid rules.  She knew she was not to draw her wand in the company of Muggles, but this was different.  At least, that’s what she kept telling herself as she vacillated.  She turned the corner to her right and ran smack into Theo Nott.  
  


“Fucking hell.”  Theo dropped whatever he had draped over his shoulders, and turned to glare at her.  
  


“Where’s Malfoy?”  Hermione coughed.  She bent to help him lift an unconscious Ronald Weasley, and Theo scowled.  
  


“I fucking told them to stay put.  I told them to let the Muggle authorities search for the fire, but you know they didn’t listen a bit.  Weasley here was walloped on the head, and I just discovered him near the stairwell.  I suspect Malfoy ventured into the basement.  For the love of the gods, do not _Rennervate_ Weasley.  I made that mistake and all he did was howl at the pain of it all.”  Theo grunted with the weight of Ron on his back, but he trudged forward.  
  


He knew there wasn’t much point in warning Hermione away from the fray.  Those bloody Muggles were taking their sweet time when it came to offering aid in the midst of an inferno.  If he hadn’t been constrained by the rules of the Magical World, a simple ‘ _Aguamenti_ ’ would have solved the bulk of the issues.  Theo did bend the rules slightly and justified such acts by the surrounding smoke.  He didn’t even require his wand to use a Feather-light Charm, and it aided his endeavours significantly.  
  


Hermione raced to the stairwell and coughed fitfully as the smoke thickened.  She shouted over the roar of crackling fire she couldn’t yet see, but received no reply.  She tripped over a fallen Muggle and paused to assess him.  
  


The poor man’s face was nearly melted to the concrete, and Hermione knew there wasn’t a speck of hope for survival.  Even magic had limits.  She crawled across the grey cracked floor and drew desperate breaths.  
  


“Malfoy!”  Hermione’s strangled shout was the best she could manage, and her eyes stung as the oxygen was sucked from the air.  
  


“H-here.”  Draco Malfoy struggled to remain on his knees and wheezed harshly.  
  


He seemed to be dragging an unconscious woman with him, which slowed his progress.  He hefted the woman beneath her breasts and slid their bodies across the floor at a snail’s pace.  Draco hadn’t the strength to utilise any sort of magic, even if he wanted too.  He’d gotten her this far on sheer strength of will, and knowing his partner was close by, he faltered.  
  


“The hell with this.”  Hermione Granger snapped angrily and pointed her wand at the unconscious woman.  
  


Draco hadn’t the breaths to argue with her.  His eyes slid shut, and he felt his head bounce off the concrete floor.  His chest burned with the effort to breathe, but then he was levitated outside, drawing great gasps of fresh air.  
  


“Are you insane?  The Minister specifically mandated we are not to use magic in the presence of Muggles!”  Harry Potter ranted, but Hermione wasn’t listening to him.  
  


She crumpled to the ground under the weight of Draco and still managed to study the black smoke wafting from the seventh-floor window.  She swore it formed shapes before it dissipated, but under the current circumstances, she couldn’t be sure.  
  


Hermione cradled Draco’s head in her lap, while Theo tended to the Muggle woman.  Her fingertips combed his soot-streaked hair off his forehead, while Draco coughed heavily.  She rubbed his chest with her fist, having read somewhere it aided in drawing breath.  
  


“I wasn’t going to leave him there, Harry.  He’s my partner.  You wouldn’t have left me either.”  She watched Draco’s pale eyelashes flutter, and closed her eyes in relief.  
  


“I would have listened to the Minister.”  Harry sounded a bit pompous, and Hermione’s brown eyes snapped toward him so quickly, Harry recoiled.

  
“Bollocks.  You are a lying sack of shite.  Do you really wish me to recount all the times you haven’t listened to anyone when it didn’t suit your needs?  No, I didn’t think so.”  Hermione returned her attention to Draco, as she was irritated with Harry and didn’t wish to speak to him any longer.  
  


Draco squeezed her hand.  He knew she was anxious.  He could feel it coming off her waves and wondered how Potter could be so oblivious.  He also didn’t mind being nestled in  Hermione’s lap, and Draco suspected that was part of Potter’s upset.  
  


“Have I ever…”  Draco wheezed, and Hermione was forced to bend over him to hear his words.  “Have I ever told you…I love the naughty words that pass your lips when you’re furious?  As long as…as long as they’re not directed at me, of course.”  Draco sputtered a few more times, but the pain in his chest was eased after Hermione helped him sit up.  
  


“You idiot.  You scared me.”  Hermione sighed and moved to press her lips against his cheek.  
  


However, Draco’s grimy fingers lightly touched her cheek, which caused their lips to meet.  It was brief, almost as an afterthought.  It was sweet, as far as kisses go, and neither of them knew what to think about it.  
  


In the distance, a man stood with his hood drawn over his head.  He watched the Muggles and wizards come and go with a sneer painted on his lips.  They had escaped this time and it was that stupid Muggle-born woman’s fault.  If she hadn’t followed him, they’d all be dead.

  
“Next time,”  he muttered and Disapparated with a crack.


	5. 5

_I don’t hate you.  I’m just not necessarily excited about your existence.  – Draco Malfoy_

* * *

 

Astoria Greengrass smiled congenially as she floated through the corridors of St. Mungo’s, but she was feeling less than sociable.  She wasn’t particularly fond of being forced to walk amongst the plebeians, but she suffered in silence.  She accepted her plight with the grace of a Pureblood witch, just as she was instructed from the time she was a small girl.

 

She fervently hoped Draco would give up his desire to work for the Ministry of Magic upon their completion of the Betrothal Contract.  Astoria didn’t wish to imagine being married to one of the richest Pureblood wizards in Britain that chose to spend his days slaving away in a thankless job.  It was laughable when it was completely unnecessary for him to do anything other than travel the world.

 

Astoria Greengrass had high hopes of living the lavish life she deserved.  She had spent her years at Hogwarts covertly observing Draco Malfoy and knew he was the perfect wizard to give her the life she wished.  He was easy on the eyes, which definitely didn’t hurt matters.  His arrogance Astoria knew she could work around, as most men were eager to please if she simply pouted and batted her eyes.

 

There was only one obstacle in her way, and that was Hermione Granger.  Astoria had only properly met the poor excuse for a witch once, but she’d heard plenty.  She’d seen the little mongrel splashed on the front pages of the Daily Prophet, cavorting with Purebloods as if she belonged.  It was disgraceful really, but that wasn’t Astoria’s biggest issue with the pretty witch.

 

Hermione Granger gave Draco Malfoy ideas, and Astoria wouldn’t stand for such nonsense.  It wasn’t Draco’s place to think.  It was his place to influence and spend money, but he had refused such notions.  If it had been anyone else, it would have been disgraceful, but considering it was a Malfoy, Astoria was forced to smile in acceptance.

 

Hermione Granger was the reason Draco had delayed the signing of the Contract, at least that’s what Astoria firmly believed.  He had been completely apathetic, just as he should be, prior to receiving word the Granger bint was being transferred to his department.  Everything had gone tits up from there, though Draco refused to admit it.

 

It was bad enough he was bloody friends with Ron Weasley, but to constantly spout ‘ _Granger says_ ’, was enough to drive any witch to her wit’s end.  Astoria could have tolerated the friendship, at least the Weasleys were Pureblood, even if they were poor.  She simply did not have a speck of room in her life for Hermione Granger.

 

Astoria knew they had forged some sort of strange relationship, and it irked her.  Draco was pushing her away, she could feel it.  He had barely responded to an owl in the past year, and Astoria only saw him due to Narcissa’s interventions.

 

When she had received the owl from Narcissa, Astoria had immediately ventured to St. Mungo’s.  Draco was injured while dealing with Muggles of all things.  He needed her.  He needed to know he was…well not loved, but cared for and supported.  He needed to quit that bloody job, but that discussion could wait until he was recovered.

 

“You shouldn’t be up and about.”

 

Astoria paused in the corridor, her palms flat upon the door.  She bristled and closed her dark eyes for a moment.  It wouldn’t do to enter Draco’s room with her temper flaring.  She could be absolutely charming when the mood struck, yet she hadn’t expected the thorn in her side to be present.

 

“Neither should you, Granger, but I don’t see you sitting in your bed.”  Draco coughed into his hands and rolled his eyes when Hermione smirked at him.  He glared at her, yet dutifully returned to his hospital bed.

 

“I didn’t inhale nearly as much smoke as you did.  It’s absolutely ridiculous that they’re keeping us here.”  Hermione coughed quite violently, but then she closed her eyes and was immediately panicking.

 

There was something about the tight feeling in her chest that made her feel bizarre.  She was completely off-kilter, and she couldn’t find her bearing.  Hermione’s breaths were a staccato of pain as each inhale pierced her heart while her mind was lost in the past.

 

“Granger?  Are you alright?  Granger!”  Draco leapt from his hospital bed with a hand to his chest.

He struggled, yet managed to reach Hermione before her knees buckled.  Her lips were rapidly turning blue, but that wasn’t what scared him.  It was the absolute terror in her eyes.

 

“Can’t.”  Hermione gasped while her fingernails dug into the pale skin of Draco’s arms.  “Tell her…I didn’t take anything.  Don’t let her…not again.  Please, Malfoy, please.”

 

Astoria strode into the room, with a pleasant smile pasted on her plum lips, yet it quickly turned into a heated snarl.  She was fairly certain her eyes were playing tricks on her.  She was imagining the scene before her, as it certainly couldn’t be reality.  Her Draco would never be seated upon the filthy floor with a Mudblood fiercely clutched to his chest.

 

“Draco!”  Astoria intended the words to be a question, but her ire got the best of her.

 

“Tori, thank gods.”  Draco looked relieved to see her, which eased Astoria’s fury.  “Fetch a Healer.  Something’s wrong with Granger.”

 

Astoria’s painted lips parted in shock laced with horror.  She couldn’t believe her ears.  She was a Pureblood witch and she had never fetched anything in her life.  She wasn’t about to start now.

 

Her dark eyes narrowed considerably when Hermione Granger’s fingers pulled on Draco’s shirt.  She gasped when he didn’t struggle against the woman.  She hissed when Draco stroked the woman’s cheek almost lovingly.  Astoria couldn’t hear the words being spoken, she merely caught a few that didn’t make a bit of sense to her.

 

“I didn’t.  I swear.  Tell her.  Not again.  I can’t.  Care for me.”  It was those last words falling from Hermione’s lips that caused Astoria to stamp her foot angrily.

 

“Draco, I demand an explanation!”  Astoria shrieked, and was admittingly glad her mother wasn’t present to reprimand her for raising her voice in mixed company.

 

“You’re still here?  Astoria, get a fucking Healer!”  Draco Malfoy hadn’t the patience to deal with the pampered Pureblood and didn’t regret shouting at her in the least.  He growled and was pleased to note Astoria fled the room.

 

“She’s going to do it again.  I can’t take it again.  Please, Draco, make her stop.”  Hermione whimpered and felt no safety in the circle of his arms.  Her eyes were squeezed shut tight, and her breathing was laboured at best.

 

Draco gasped lightly and stared down at Hermione curiously.  She never used his given name, at least not that he could recall.  Unless of course, she was shouting at him, and then his entire name would make an appearance, but to hear her fractured voice speaking his given name did things to him.

 

“She’s not here.”  He whispered, though he hadn’t the slightest idea what Hermione was going on about, until she

screamed.

His throat seemed to close, and his chest was inexplicably tight.  There was a coldness that seeped into his bones, and he closed his eyes.  It was a mistake to focus his energies, as the moment his eyes were closed, Draco Malfoy was thrust into the midst of a nightmare.

 

It was difficult to make sense of the images burning into the back of his eyelids, but Draco discovered, he didn’t want too.  He didn’t want to hear the familiar cackle of his aunt.  He didn’t want to feel the burning fire of the Cruciatus Curse striking him.  He didn’t want to see the red eyes glaring down at him in disappointment, and he definitely didn’t wish to feel the cold arms pat his back in some semblance of a hug.

 

“Mr Malfoy?  Ms Granger?”

 

Draco didn’t recognise the voice, and he didn’t want too.  It couldn’t save him.  Nothing could save him from the horrors of his memories.  He was vaguely aware of muted voices, and perhaps even a bit of scurrying, but he refused to release the witch in his arms.  She was his anchor.  She was the only thing that allowed him to cling to the bare vestiges of reality.

 

“We suspected, but there was no way to truly know.”  Theodore Nott entered the hospital room at the behest of a distraught Mediwitch and only shook his head.  “Weasley is much the same.  I don’t think I was inside long enough for it to take.”

 

“There are far too many Wrackspurts taking hold.”  The tall, leggy blonde shook her head, but there was something about her manner that caused the Mediwitches to remain silent.  “Fuse the beds, would you Theo?  It’s obvious they’re not going to allow us to pry them apart.”

 

Theo flinched away from the dreamy voice, realising relatively quickly, the strange Healer with the silver radish earrings was none other than Luna Lovegood.  He hadn’t given the witch a thought in years, and yet he never imagined she’d wind up a Healer.  As he fused the two hospital beds, he amused himself with strange anecdotes from their childhood.

 

“This is ridiculous.  I absolutely forbid Draco to be put to bed with that Mudblood.”  Astoria Greengrass drew her wand and succinctly split the beds in two, without a second thought.

 

“Oh, was Draco married?  I didn’t think so, not quite yet.  It would have been incredibly rude of him not to invite me.”  Luna sighed with the barest hint of a frown gracing her brows.  “He didn’t mention it at all, the last time we lunched.  In fact, I distinctly remember him stating it would be a warm day in Voldemort’s tomb before he married a witch of his parent’s choosing.  Hmm, this is all very disconcerting.”

 

“I-I…he said WHAT?”  Astoria lost all modicum of propriety and nearly leapt for the Healer with visions of physical violence in her eyes.

 

“Astoria.”  The singular word was spoken softly, yet it dripped with venom.

 

Theodore Nott gulped and turned to meet the startling blue eyes of Narcissa Malfoy.  He offered the witch a polite nod and immediately stepped to the side.  He had known the formidable witch his entire life, and Theo knew it was in his best interest to grace her with a wide berth.

 

“Mrs Malfoy, would you mind terribly if I was to treat Draco accordingly?”  Luna smiled prettily, and it was a stark contrast to the tension between Narcissa and Astoria.

 

“Healer Lovegood, lovely to see you.  Of course, do whatever is necessary for the betterment of my son.  When you come for tea on Saturday, be sure to bring Ms Granger with you.”  Narcissa Malfoy’s blue eyes never left the enraged Slytherin’s, and it pleased her immensely to see Astoria deflate.

 

Healer Lovegood stepped around the irate brunette without a second glance and stood beside Theo.  They gazed down at the trembling patients silently, while they attempted to ignore the tension thick in the air.  Neither one was willing to actually touch them, but Luna couldn’t allow them to suffer much longer.

 

“Narcissa, you can’t possibly allow this.”  Astoria lowered her voice significantly, but she was incapable of wiping the sneer from her lips.

 

“Ms Greengrass, the day I take parenting advice from you is…well, it doesn’t really matter now, does it?  I would never take advice from a simpering child.  Perhaps it would be best if you returned to your family home.  I was remiss to contact you, but Lucius insisted.  I see now I was correct in my assumptions.  It was an error, and I shall not repeat it.  I’m sure Draco will owl you when he is recovered.”  Narcissa Malfoy, in her regal puce robes, gestured toward the door.

 

Astoria glanced toward the bed longingly, but she swallowed hard and nodded.  She detested the way Draco was wrapped around the Muggle-born.  He had never touched her in such a way.  He had never been tender, or gentle, or even kind.  He’d barely tolerated her, but Astoria didn’t like to dwell on such negativity.

 

She brushed past the Malfoy Matriarch without another word, but she had already formulated a plan.  Astoria knew Lucius absolutely adored her, and using her feminine wiles to get her way had always worked in her favour.  It wouldn’t be the first time she had warmed the wizard’s bed, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.  Astoria Greengrass was the sort of witch to do whatever was necessary to secure her future, and she had her sights set on Draco Lucius Malfoy.

 

* * *

 

Neville Longbottom had a devil of a time keeping Harry Potter contained.  He wasn’t quite sure why the Minister assigned him such a task, but he tried.  He really tried, and short of drawing his wand on The Chosen One, Neville was running out of ideas.

 

“Just let me slip into her room.  I just want to make sure she’s alright.”  Harry struggled within his bonds and winced as the magical rope chafed his wrists.

 

“Luna’s with them now, Harry.  Did you know Luna’s a Healer?  Everyone always thought she’d go off with her dad to search for those creatures no one has ever seen, and she did for a bit, and decided she wished to be a Healer.”  Neville guarded the door wearily and filled the incessant whining with useless bits of information.

 

“I don’t give a shit, Neville!”  Harry’s chair scraped across the worn tile, and under different circumstances, it would have been amusing.

 

“Luna’s friends with Malfoy, did you know that, Harry?  She takes tea with Narcissa every Saturday.  I don’t know how it started really, but I think she’s part of the reason Malfoy is less of an arse.  Even you have to admit that.  I haven’t heard him say the M word since we were children.  He and Hermione work really well together.  I suspect there’s more than a little attraction there, which would explain all the underlying tension between them.”  Neville cringed upon realising he’d just said a tad too much.

 

Harry Potter shook the arms of his chair, but all he managed to accomplish was falling to the side, and crashing his cheek to the ground.  He groaned and watched through squinted eyes as his shattered spectacles slid beneath Ron’s bed.  Harry’s cheeks were pink with anger and exertion, but it didn’t matter, he was still bound.

 

“Fucking spiders!”  Ron Weasley screamed the words until he was hoarse.  His voice was raspy, but it didn’t stop his lips from moving in fright.

 

“You’d think Ron’s nightmares would feature more than spiders.”  Neville shook his head and quickly set Harry upright.  “You’ve got to let her go, Harry.  Enough is enough.  You married Lavender.  You haven’t a right to her anymore.”

 

“She’s my best friend!  She’s important to me!  I’ll always have a …right…to…her.”  Harry Potter finally allowed the anger to dissipate and even managed a frown directed toward himself more than anything.

 

“Yeah, it doesn’t sound right when you say it either.  It’s not a matter of ownership and rights anyway.  We’re friends, and that’s that.”  Neville peeked into the corridor, hoping the Healers would rescue him soon.

 

“I’M NOT FUCKING KISSING THE FUCKING SPIDER!”  Ron Weasley howled in distress, but it was just the hilarity that Harry and Neville required to dissolve into subdued snickers rather than resorting to harsh words.

 

Ron Weasley moaned and his sheets were damp with sweat.  He had visions of the monstrous Aragog forcing him to dance with his little spider children.  It didn’t matter how much he writhed in their sticky webs, he was a prisoner.  Ron would rather face Voldemort than entertain hairy eight-legged beasts.

 

He was fairly certain it was a nightmare, but Ron couldn’t force himself to wake.  His logic declared Aragog long dead, but in Ron’s memories, the fiend was alive and well, speaking to him in achingly low rasps.  Ron was a puppet, forced to do whatever he was bid, and he wondered if the deceased spider had perfected the Imperious Curse in the afterlife.

 

The bitter brew forced between his lips caused Ron to sputter.  He struggled against the furry appendages that held him in their clutches.  His chest felt as though it was still smouldering as the raging fire in the Muggle building licked at his skin.  As the Potion worked its way through his system, Ron Weasley recalled certain facts that had been blurred by the Fear-Inducing Hex, and while the terror slowed, his lips remained parted in silent scream until it bubbled to the surface in a robust burst.

 

“IT WAS A WIZARD!”  Ronald Weasley sprung upwards, and if it hadn’t been for Healer Lovegood, he probably would have catapulted from the bed.

 

“We know, Weasley.”  Theo Nott was quick to calm the distraught ginger and tapped his chin with another Potion phial.  It was in everyone’s best interests if Ron fell into a dreamless slumber.

 

“Will he be alright?”  Harry Potter swallowed hard and forced the words from between his clenched teeth.

 

“Right as pumpkin juice, Harry.  Draco and Hermione are close to waking.  If you wished to know as to their condition, you could have just asked.”  Healer Lovegood smiled brightly and covered the loudly snoring patient with an obnoxious flowered sheet.

 

“Oh please, Malfoy’s nearly normal at this point.  I checked in on them before making my way here, and he was licking the back of her neck.  I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but I heard mention of Veela tendencies and fucked right off.”  Theodore Nott rolled his amber eyes skyward with an exaggerated groan.  “Sorry, Potter.”

 

Theo didn’t sound the least bit sorry, but Harry didn’t rise to the bait.  He closed his soft green eyes and exhaled loudly.  Harry was used to barbs from the Slytherins, but there wasn’t malice in Theo’s words.  Harry realised he was being particularly difficult and absolutely ridiculous.

 

He had a wife.  He wasn’t particularly happy in his marriage, but that wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own.  Harry had drowned his sorrows in vats of firewhiskey and wound up casually shagging Lavender Brown.  It was a colossal error in judgement, but it was too late.

 

Harry had always wanted a family, and Lavender had known that.  Hell, everyone had known that, which made it that much easier to trap him.  He didn’t even question the verbal results of the pregnancy test and had immediately suggested they marry.  Harry now knew he had been hoodwinked, but he still desperately wanted a family, and Lavender seemed just as disappointed as he when her monthly arrived on schedule, like always.

 

Harry knew it was difficult to receive a Dissolution Hearing before the Wizengamot, and he didn’t have a basis for ending his marriage.  It’s not as though he could prove Lavender had lied about being with child.  Therefore, he suffered, and silently pined after a woman that had never seen him as anything more than a brother.

 

“You don’t really love her.”  Theo Nott offered casually as he kept a wary eye on the mumbling Ron.

 

“What?”  Harry scratched his head and offered Neville a small smile of thanks for his freedom.

 

“You love what she embodies.  You love her passion and her fire.  You admire her intelligence.  She’s got a lovely arse and all, but you don’t love her.  If you truly loved her, you’d want her to be happy, even if it wasn’t with you.”  Theo’s eyes darkened, which was a fantastic feat with brown eyes as dark as his, and Harry knew there was a story there.

 

“Who was she?”  Harry asked.

 

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?  Suffice it to say, she couldn’t bear the thought of marrying a Ministry worker rather than one of the Pureblood Elite.  She thought it was beneath me, but I enjoy my job.  She wanted her picture-perfect life more than she wanted me.”  Theo wiped his hands down his face in anger, not in sadness.  “I could have enforced the Betrothal Agreement.  I could have been a right bastard and forced her hand.  I considered it, but then she told me she’d fallen in love…with someone else.  I hated her as much as I loved her, but I released her.  I still have moments where I’m bitter as fuck, but she’s happy, Potter.  It wasn’t conditional love.  I didn’t want her to be happy only if she chose me.  Love isn’t quite that selfish.  Think about it.”  Theo stalked from Ron’s bedside and vacated the hospital room with a quick murmur to Neville.

 

“I’ll sit with Ron.”  Harry Potter hung his head with shame, and Neville Longbottom was simply relieved to be free of obligation.

 

* * *

 

Hermione Granger was hot.  She was nearly stiflingly hot, but it seemed she was also trapped.  Her limbs were tight, her muscles ached, yet it was a heavy presence that kept her immobile.  She nearly panicked, but the sensation of something warm and wet between her shoulder blades was strangely soothing.

 

She was vaguely aware of a tightness in her chest and was remiss to take a full breath.  Instead, she flexed her fingers and sighed as a muscular arm tightened around her waist.  Hermione’s eyelids fluttered due to the surprisingly cool lips and hard teeth that nibbled along her throat.

 

“I implore you not to wake him, Ms Granger.”  Narcissa Malfoy’s cool voice stifled the shriek lodged in Hermione’s throat.  “Healer Lovegood will extricate you if you can be patient for a few more moments.”

 

Hermione didn’t reply.  She didn’t nod.  She barely breathed.  It was then she realised the hard surface behind her, was none other than Draco Malfoy.  Her panicked eyes flew open the very second she discerned it was his arm, his lips, his teeth against her flesh.

 

“I-I.”  Hermione drew a ragged breath, but the snarling rumble emanating from Draco’s chest ceased any further words.

 

“Ohh, he growled, isn’t that sweet?”  Luna Lovegood smiled brightly and completely ignored the sheer terror splashed across Hermione’s features.

 

“Lucius will not be pleased.”  Narcissa might have pursed her lips, but there was a twinkle in her blue eyes.

 

Hermione remained silent while Luna effectively manipulated the slumbering Malfoy heir with practised hands.  Her feet hit the tile and she flinched at their frigid temperatures.  Her legs were wobbly, but she managed to stand from sheer determination.

 

“Explain.  Now.”  Hermione didn’t waste time mincing words despite her precarious health.

 

While she swayed lightly on her feet, her right hand unconsciously rubbed at the sore spot just beneath the base of her skull.  Hermione’s eyes were barely more than slits as she watched Narcissa and Luna exchange a glance she was unable to read.  Her eyes wandered toward Draco, but he remained still and asleep, though his brows were drawn together tightly.

 

“You really shouldn’t be up and about, Ms Granger.”  Narcissa Malfoy’s voice was calm, but Hermione kept her eyes trained on the older witches wringing hands.

 

“Why was I in bed with Malfoy?”  Hermione continued to rub the sore spot on her neck, shivering as a tingle ran down her spine.

 

“You were both completely out of sorts due to the Fear-Inducement Hex and it was easier to treat you together, rather than wrench you apart and worsen the situation.”

 

Hermione nodded her head slowly and accepted Narcissa’s assessment as truth.  She stood stock still and allowed Luna to give her a once over.  She gasped lightly when Luna’s forefinger grazed the reddened flesh of her neck.

 

“He bit her.”  Luna manoeuvred around Hermione’s headful of golden brown tangles to speak to Narcissa.

 

“He bit who?  Did Malfoy _bite_ me?!”  Hermione was nearly shrieking, and yet she was completely ignored.

 

“Lucius _really_ isn’t going to be pleased.”  The Malfoy Matriarch wasn’t the least bit bothered by Hermione’s flinch as she bent to inspect the damage.  “It looks exactly like ours.”

 

“Ours?  Yours?  Whose?  I don’t understand.”  Hermione’s voice had reached the frequency that often made Harry and Ron cringe.

 

Draco Malfoy shifted in his sleep.  He rolled toward the vacated pillow and buried his nose in the delectable scent left behind.  The sheets were still warm to the touch, and while his dreams had been littered with the sort of witch that left his slacks considerably tighter, Draco was disgruntled.

 

He was absolutely certain the soft curves had been real.  He had felt the gentle curve of her hip against his thighs.  He had stroked the smooth flesh of her abdomen.  He had inhaled against her throat and tasted her skin.  He had tasted the sunshine with lingering notes of honey and citrus, with an underlying scent he couldn’t identify.

 

“He’s waking.”  Luna Lovegood grasped Hermione by the elbow and led her to the door.  “Let’s just get you all nice and settled elsewhere.  I’m sure you have an endless supply of questions, which I’ll be happy to answer at tea on Saturday.”

 

Hermione nodded dumbly and allowed herself to be pulled into the bustling corridor.  The Mediwitches hovering near the door smirked at her and immediately settled into catty whispers.  She smoothed her tangled hair, but it didn’t do a bit of good, it never did.  Hermione blinked in confusion and then she was thrust into yet another hospital room.

 

“Luna--”

 

“Like I said Hermione, tea on Saturday.  We’ve been invited and I’m sure Cissa will invite you properly once you’ve recovered.  I’m positive Theo wishes to debrief you as soon as possible, therefore I’ve packaged your Potions and implicit instructions.  He’ll be along shortly to escort you home.”  Luna kissed Hermione’s cheek and left her to stand in the middle of an empty hospital room.

 

“Tea…with Narcissa Malfoy and Luna Lovegood.”  Hermione gnawed the right corner of her bottom lip, thoroughly confused.

 

The very last thing she remembered was shaky knees crumpling and Malfoy catching her.  Hermione was angry, frustrated, and exhausted, despite her obvious rest.  The back of her neck tingled and the intensity strengthened the more she ignored it.  Therefore, when Theodore Nott entered her room, Hermione Granger stood at the window, her forehead pressed against the glass and her fingertips pressing against the thin, red line.

  
“Ah Granger, there you are.  Come along then.  I’m to escort you home.  Healer’s orders, and all that.”  Theo crossed his arms and casually leaned against the doorjamb.

 

“What about Ron?  Is he--”  Hermione didn’t turn, and she barely spoke above a whisper, yet Theo could feel the anxiety in her.

 

“He’s snoring loudly and finally stopped shrieking about dancing spiders.”  Theo chuckled and patiently waited for her to make sense of everything.

 

“I’m assuming Harry is fine.”  She scoffed then, and Theo exhaled the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

 

“Don’t get me started on Potter, Granger.  Come on then, I haven’t all day.  I do have a report to file, and I would hate my tardiness to be due to Hermione Granger’s unwillingness to vacate St. Mungo’s.”

 

“What was it?”  Hermione finally turned and felt cold in her hospital issue robes.

 

“Fear-Inducement Hex.  Haven’t seen the likes of one that strong in years and I--”  Theo shrugged, unconcerned.

 

“Oh my gods.”  Hermione’s eyes widened and her hands flew to cover her parted lips.  “It was a wizard, well, or a witch, but it was someone we know.  I mean, well someone Harry, Ron, and I know.  I can’t…I mean why would…I don’t understand.  I need to do some research.  This is all my fault.”

 

“Your fault?”  Suddenly Theo was terribly interested in Hermione’s rambling.

 

Hermione took a small step forward and shook her head lightly.  She swallowed hard but was quick to put on the brave front that defined her.  Her chin jutted forward and while her eyes shined, the tears did not fall.

 

“It was a difficult time, Nott.  It was War and we were only children, but we were expected to do so very much.  I was angry.  I’m sure you heard all about Ron deserting us in the Forest of Dean, it’s common knowledge at this point.”  Hermione’s gaze wavered, but she refused to yield to the whirlwind of emotions coursing through her.  “Harry and I tried to keep things light-hearted, but it got dark there for a bit.  We had to share the horcrux between just us two, so we were wearing it for longer periods--”

 

“While this is all absolutely fascinating Granger, get to the point where this is your fault.”  Theo’s fingers flexed against his forearms, yet the hot feeling in his chest never did bode well.

 

“I created it.  I created the Fear-Inducement Hex.”  Hermione took a slow shuddered breath and studied Theo’s brown leather loafers before locking onto his dark eyes.  “I didn’t just create it.  I taught other members of the D.A. how to cast it.  It wasn’t difficult, ridiculously easy really, so you see Nott, it’s my fault.”


	6. 6

_ “You are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet.” – Hermione Granger _

* * *

 

 

Hermione nervously showered and dressed, though her ensemble displeased her greatly.  She cast aside yet another pencil skirt and ruffled blouse and silently screamed into her hands.  She didn’t want to go.  She didn’t want to spend her afternoon with Narcissa Malfoy and Luna Lovegood.

 

“What the hell does one wear to tea with Mrs Malfoy?”  Hermione mumbled as she quickly removed her red blouse and tossed it onto the growing heap on her bed.

 

“You’re overthinking it again.  Of course, I have to say rethinking the red blouse was definitely in your best interests.  You don’t want to venture into Malfoy Manor sporting your House Colours,”  Gemma Farley plucked through the discard pile with pursed full red lips.

 

“You’re supposed to be helping me.  I don’t know what to do!”  

 

Hermione tossed her hands into the air and gazed at her reflection with a critical eye.  She was in the process of rethinking every decision she’d ever made since taking her N.E.W.T.S.  First and foremost, was accepting a position at the Ministry, but living with Gemma was a close second.

 

“You’re quite matronly aren’t you?  I mean, this is a collection of pencil skirts and horrid blouses with hideous ruffles.  This will never do.”

 

The tall, long-legged brunette swept from the room with an easy sway to her hips that was easy to envy.  She was willowy limbs and perfect hair.  Other witches would have been jealous, had been jealous, but not Hermione, which was why Gemma liked her.

 

Gemma knew Hermione was wound just a bit too tightly and her job at the Ministry didn’t help matters.  In fact, the tensions had only risen since working in such close proximity to Draco Malfoy, but that subject was succinctly closed whenever it was broached.  Instead, Gemma observed, as it was her favourite pastime.

 

“I thought you weren’t coming back until Yule.  That’s what you told me,”  Hermione muttered as she twisted her uncooperative curls into some semblance of a twist.

 

“I was bored.  There’s only so much shopping a witch can do in France before everything runs together.  It could have been too much wine, I can’t be sure.  It doesn’t matter.  Aren’t you glad I showed up?  Otherwise, you’d be off to the Manor wearing Gryffindor red and your grandmother’s pearls,”  Gemma languidly tossed a conservative navy dress toward her roommate.  “I picked this up for you on one of my many adventures.  There’s a lovely pearl white cardigan that would be smashing, but we’ve got to do something about those shoes.”

 

Hermione frowned heavily and kicked off her substandard brown loafers under protest.  She loved those shoes.  They were comfortable and comfort always won out over fashion.  The day she could make Gemma understand such things, would be a day that Hermione knew would never come.

 

“This shows entirely too much cleavage and too much leg.  You’re ridiculous,”  Hermione huffed as she straightened the dress over her hips.

 

Gemma narrowed her pale green eyes and raked her long fingernails through her chestnut hair.  It wasn’t the perfect ensemble.  It certainly wasn’t what she would wear, but Hermione Granger was the epitome of conservative.  Gemma ached to get her friend to break free from her constraints, but as of yet, she had been unsuccessful.

 

“Someday you’re going to allow me to dress you from head to toe.  Perhaps for the Ministry Ball,”  She tapped her fingertip against her bottom lip and thrust a pair of red strappy heels toward Hermione.  

 

“Fine, if I manage to walk away from this tea unscathed, you can have carte blanche for the Ball.  Gods, I’m going to be late,”  Hermione groaned.

 

“You definitely can’t Floo in that outfit.  Hurry on then,”  Gemma waggled her fingers with laughter on her lips while Hermione scurried down the narrow steps.

 

Hermione held her breath and gripped her wand.  She recited the words nearly every time she Apparated and never felt better about it.  Destination.  Determination.  Deliberation.  It never got easier and she hated the way her eyes pressed into her skull and her ears felt filled with everything and nothing.

 

She didn’t heave upon landing and for that, she was ever so grateful.  While she wasn’t completely familiar with the Malfoy grounds, she had been to the Manor once or twice since the conclusion of the War.  She stared at the iron gates with the deep feeling of trepidation that never seemed to wane when faced with the Malfoys.

 

Hermione refused to admit it to anyone other than herself, but they intimidated her.  They were an old and powerful family.  They had connections that ran deep through the Wizengamot, but it was their aloofness that she found most off-putting.  

 

Despite her trepidation, Hermione placed her hands near the gates and held her breath as they swung open.  Nervously, she stepped forward and braced herself.  For reasons even she didn’t understand, Hermione always expected some sort of jinx whenever she stepped onto the grounds, but it never came.

 

The walk was long, but it was never unpleasant.  Hermione enjoyed the silence laced with solitude, as well as the welcoming grove of trees.  Malfoy Manor was quite imposing, but the grounds were peaceful.  She often imagined herself exploring the expansive gardens and quickly pushed away such thoughts.  It wouldn’t do to indulge such dreams.

 

“Ms Granger,”  Narcissa Malfoy waved congenially from the entrance with a hint of a smile pasted on her blush lips.  “We expected you to Floo.”  She frowned slightly and shook her head to wipe away the traces of confusion.

 

“I’m sorry?”  Hermione wobbled on the unfamiliar red heels as she ascended the stone staircase ever so carefully.  “Gemma suggested Apparition and with this cardigan, I was apt to agree.”

 

“Yes, I never did care for Floo Travel myself.  Ms Lovegood is waiting for us in the Conservatory and I fear if we keep her waiting too long she’ll entertain herself by plucking the aura of my house elves.”

 

Narcissa gestured toward the foyer with an open arm and Hermione nodded agreeably.  She kept her eyes downcast as she always had when venturing into the Manor, but the pale hand on her forearm caused her brown eyes to look up.

 

“It isn’t the same, you realise?”  Narcissa’s crystal blue eyes held traces of apprehension, which Hermione understood quite well.  “I was certain Draco had informed you when last you visited.  Although, if I recall correctly your entrance was into his bedroom and quite late at night.”

 

“It was work related, of course!”  Hermione blushed as Narcissa smirked knowingly.  “We had a break in an important case and the Minister said it couldn’t wait and—“

 

“Breathe, Ms Granger.  You’ll live longer.”

 

It was a long and comfortably quiet walk to the Conservatory.  Hermione listened to the sounds of her heels on the marble and the vague shuffling of house elves.  Narcissa glanced at the girl often, yet remained silent.  Hermione released a breath of relief upon spying Luna Lovegood conversing with a distressed house elf.

 

“Ms Lovegood,”  Narcissa sighed.

 

“Hermione, you’re here, lovely.”

 

Luna waved over her shoulder as the house elf retreated with a gulp of fear and smiled broadly at Hermione.  She bounded over with stars in her eyes and embraced the uncomfortable brunette despite Narcissa’s frown.  She threaded her arm through Hermione’s and waited for the Matriarch to direct them.

 

“Perhaps, we should enjoy tea in the garden.  I’m sure Ms Lovegood will be able to occupy herself with the infestation of Nargles and Ms Granger and I will be able to converse plainly.”

 

Hermione didn’t much like the sound of that.  She regretted accepting the invitation to tea, but dammit, she needed answers.  She needed to understand that horrible heavy feeling in her chest whenever Draco was near.  It wasn’t there before their stint in St Mungo's, at least she didn’t think it was.  Everything was hazy and convoluted and Hermione just wanted some answers.

 

She waited until Narcissa was seated and stiffly took the chair across from the blonde witch.  She didn’t know the proper protocol for having tea with a woman that frankly, intimidated her.  Hermione carefully folded a linen napkin across her lap and waited for the innumerous questions she was sure Narcissa begged to ask.

 

“How have you been?  I haven’t spoken to you since that unfortunate situation at St Mungo's.  Are you faring well?”  Narcissa inquired.

 

“Most of my time has been spent delving into the lasting effects of the Fear Inducement Hex.  I regret my involvement in that particularly nasty spell, but it can’t be changed I suppose,”  Hermione shakily poured a cup of tea and hoped Luna would intercede soon.

 

“Have you spoken with Draco about his Veela Tendencies?  I must say I find that supremely intriguing.”

 

Luna tittered quickly and stirred more than an ample amount of cream into her tea.  She glanced between Hermione and Narcissa under hooded eyes.  She wasn’t the sort of witch to skirt a subject.  The Veela Tendencies needed to be discussed and it was better to broach such subjects immediately, at least in her opinion.

 

“I-I—“  Hermione shook her head and pretended the clotted cream and raspberry jam dripping from her scone was much more interesting than Luna’s invasive question.

 

“He hasn’t informed you.  Well, isn’t that just like my son,”  Narcissa scoffed.

 

“I haven’t seen him.  I’ve been avoiding him.  I have entirely too much work to do and I simply haven’t the time to entertain his mumbled, nonsensical ramblings.  He’s incredibly emotionally stunted.  I’ve had my fill of such things after spending months on end in a tent with two idiots.  I can’t put up with it again.  If he’s got something to tell me, he can send me a bloody owl,”  Hermione snapped.

 

Her eyes immediately widened as she realised she had shouted at Narcissa Malfoy.  Her cheeks flushed and it was nary a moment later that she covered her face with her hands.  She winced and wished she had entertained the idea of educating herself in Pureblood Customs.

 

“Ms Lovegood, I hardly think now is the proper time to pluck the poor girl’s aura.  She’s obviously out of sorts.”

 

Narcissa pursed her lips carefully and dabbed the corner of her mouth with the cream linen.  If Hermione had glanced at the older witch, she would have seen the barest hint of a smile, but Hermione was busy silently berating herself for her faux pas.

 

“I apologise,”  Hermione said calmly.

 

“No need.  My son often has that effect on others.  I would blame Lucius, but I fear I must take responsibility for my ability to avoid as well.  Draco is—“  Narcissa paused, “unwilling, I suppose you could say, to accept his heritage.  We kept it from him for ages, I’m sure you understand.”

 

“I honestly thought it was a figment of my imagination.  I thought it was some distorted nightmare or something, but it wasn’t, was it?  It actually happened.  Malfoy actually bit me.”

 

Narcissa set aside her superior breeding and reached across the table.  It was a foreign sensation to grasp a trembling hand in her own, but she did it.  Despite her upbringing, Narcissa knew it would be up to her to ease the Muggleborn witch into her new role.

 

“It would be so much easier to direct you to the impressive Malfoy Library, however, I must admit there aren’t any books on the subject.  I know that’s probably utterly and completely devastating to a witch such as yourself.  It’s quite a personal matter.  It’s a long held secret if you will and as such, neither the Malfoys nor the Blacks wished to document such anomalies.  I’m sure you understand.”

 

Narcissa slowly stirred her tea and waited for the brunette to process the information.  She pretended she didn’t hear the crash of crystal from within the Manor.  The last thing she needed to entertain was her drunken lout of a husband as he interjected his unnecessary and prejudiced opinions.

 

“When I was still a student at Hogwarts, I read nearly every book in the Hogwarts library.  I even managed to nick a few from the Restricted Section, but if you ever repeat it, I’ll deny it.  There were quite a few books on various magical creatures, but the options concerning Veela were few and far between.  It pains me to admit it, but I don’t know much about Veela at all,”  Hermione winced under the weight of her confession and looked to Luna.

 

Luna Lovegood waved at the French doors and crinkled her nose.  She giggled.  Luna giggled the moment Lucius stepped into the blinding sunshine and squinted in obvious distaste.  She waggled her fingers at the disagreeable blond and gestured toward the empty chair.

 

“Lucius, what on earth?”  Narcissa’s strangled voice startled the flock of white peacocks that had wandered nearby and Hermione stifled a laugh when they ran away.

 

“The sun should stop doing that,”  Lucius moaned.

 

“Shining?”  Hermione interjected with a half smile and brown eyes that sparkled with mischief.

 

“Cissa, she’s doing that thing.  Make it stop,”  Lucius groaned and dutifully waited as his personal house elf poured him a cup of tea.

 

“I apologise, Ms Granger.  It seems my husband is lamenting his existence,”  Narcissa smiled sweetly at Hermione and swiftly turned to glare at her husband.

 

“Overindulgence of firewhiskey will do that to a man,”  Hermione quipped.

 

“She’s speaking again.  Why must you torture me this way?  I don’t like to hear the blathering of Mudbloods before I’ve had my tea,”  Lucius waved airily and his elf poured a liberal draught of firewhiskey into his teacup with a shiver.

 

As for Hermione, her barely concealed simmering rage caused her teacup to rattle on its saucer from the force of her grip.  Luna easily plucked the China from white knuckles and set it to the side.  Narcissa’s lips were pursed so firmly they appeared as pale as her blonde hair and Lucius would have noticed if he wasn’t quite so busy attending to his hangover.

 

“I was simply discussing Veela Tendencies with Ms Granger when you so rudely interrupted.”

 

“Wait.  What?  Why would you discuss familial confidences in such mixed company?”  Lucius sputtered.

 

“Perhaps it’s because Draco bit her,”  Luna shrugged and nibbled a particularly delicious shortbread biscuit.

 

“I’m going to be sick,”  Lucius gasped.

 

“You’re so dramatic,”  Narcissa sighed.

 

Hermione squirmed in her seat, yet remained silent.  She desperately wanted to ask a million questions and steer the conversation back toward the unusual Malfoy heritage.  Instead, she toyed with the corner of her napkin and closed her eyes.

 

She regretted attending tea with Narcissa and Luna.  It was the sort of regret she felt deep in her bones.  She hadn’t learned a speck of new information really.  It was conjecture and insinuation, which was useless when one utilised logic to form proper opinions.

 

“If it would be possible to get back to the matter at hand, I’d much appreciate it,”  Hermione spoke demurely and folded her hands in her lap.

 

Narcissa appreciated Hermione’s efforts but knew the poor girl really needed to relax.  If her ramrod back was any indication, the young witch was bursting with anxiety, which would never do when dealing with Malfoys.  She supposed it would fall onto her, as most things did, but for the moment, she merely needed to distract her husband.

 

“Lucius,”  Narcissa crooned.  “Would you do me the honour of explaining our unique heritage?  I fear it’s been so long since I’ve discussed it, I can’t recall everything.”

 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously as she listened to Narcissa Malfoy play the simpering, ignorant witch for the benefit of her husband.  It raised her hackles to see such a formidable woman bat her eyes and offer sweet lies in order to stroke her husband’s ego.

 

“Liar,”  Lucius spat.  “I know what you’re doing.  You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”  He tossed back yet another amber filled teacup and belched into his hand.  “Now, I don’t know why you’re determined to share our lineage with the likes of her, but I love you—”

 

“As I do you,”  Narcissa interrupted and stroked her husband’s left hand in what could only be described as a sensual caress.

 

“Cissa is silently making sexual promises to be fulfilled later,”  Luna whispered loudly.  “It’s their favourite form of foreplay.  Perhaps you should write that down, it might be useful information for when you’re dealing with Draco.”

 

“Luna!”  Hermione hissed.  “That’s completely inappropriate.  I have no intention of dealing with Malfoy in a—in a sexual nature.”

 

“I’ve heard about all that snogging at the Ministry.  It’s only a matter of time before he seduces you,”  Luna crinkled her nose and shrugged.

 

“Snogging?”  Lucius interjected.  “Cissa, why have I not heard of this?  Has our son lost complete control of his faculties?”

 

“Only where Ms Granger is concerned it seems,”  Narcissa pinched the bridge of her nose and nearly wished for a sherry to calm her nerves.

 

“I’ve read that Veela are sexual creatures, is that true?”  Hermione was desperate to turn the conversation.

 

Lucius huffed in self-righteous indignation and ignored the uppity wench.  He’d much rather focus on the sidelines of Narcissa’s delectable breasts than listen to a voice that grated.  He shifted in his seat as his thoughts turned lascivious and snarled at the pointed glare from the irritating Muggleborn.

 

“My dear, if my son were full Veela and he had chosen you,”  he sniffed, “you would have been on your back before you could say Gryffindor.  Of course, I doubt my son would risk his legacy no matter how enticing he finds your skirts.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Why did we do this again?”  Draco Malfoy moaned into his tumbler of firewhiskey with bleary eyes.

 

“We’re stupid,”  Ron Weasley replied.

 

“Speak for yourself.”

 

Draco swirled his glass and winced as the ice clinked loudly against the side.  He knew it was a bad idea to day drink with Ron Weasley and yet, he’d done it anyway.  It was better than listening to Potter lament his terrible life choices, even he had to admit that much.

 

“This is Harry’s fault.  Can’t even watch a fucking Quidditch match without listening to him blather on about Lavender.  Merlin, I wish he’d divorce her already.”

 

Ron rubbed his bleary blue eyes and considered taking a quick kip on the pub table.  He knew it would be frowned upon.  He knew Malfoy would probably mock him endlessly, but he was just so bloody tired it was almost worth it.

 

“She’s awful.  I don’t know how you Gryffindors put up with her.  I restrain myself from strangling her every bloody time I’m forced to set eyes on her.”

 

“Malfoy, you don’t need to lie.  You look forward to her impromptu visits to the Ministry.  I mean, think about it.  Without her visits, however, would you manage to snog Hermione?”  Ron laughed stupidly and avoided the swinging palm veering toward his head.

 

“We’re not going to discuss Granger today, Weasley,”  Draco spat and avoided the curious blue eyes boring into him.

 

“It’s much better than discussing Lavender,”  Ron shuddered.  “When are you going to admit you fancy her?  I didn’t see you lot at St Mungo's.  Apparently, I was busy shouting about spiders, but from what Nott’s mentioned, you two were quite cosy.”

 

“I don’t want to fancy her.  Don’t scoff at me, Weasley.  I don’t want to like her.  We get on alright, but she drives me absolutely barmy.  She’s obstinate—“

 

“So are you.”

 

“She’s stubborn—“

 

“So are you.”

 

“She’s arrogant and I swear to Merlin you interrupt me one more time I’m going to remind you of that fucking slug incident,”  Draco snarled.

 

“You nearly shagged her, Malfoy.  If I hadn’t intervened—“

 

“I told you I didn’t want to talk about her!  Fuck, why are we friends?”  Draco groaned and gestured toward the pretty barista to refill his abandoned coffee mug.

 

“Oh, this is serious.  You’re retreating from the firewhiskey and going to dutifully sip horrid coffee in order to keep your head,”  Ron laughed.  “We wouldn’t be friends if it weren’t for my mum.  You know that.”

 

Draco sneered, but the malice behind it was severely lacking.  He knew Weasley was right.  If it hadn’t been for his intervention during the Final Battle, his psychotic aunt may have very well ended Molly Weasley.  It wasn’t something he enjoyed discussing nor did he preen in the praise from his action.  He simply considered it something that anyone with half a heart would have done.

 

“Yeah well, I still recall you shouting a bit about it.”

 

“I didn’t like you then.  Hell, I barely like you now.  I nearly lost my mind when my mum embraced you.  I thought she’d been Imperiused or something else equally horrible.  Of course, then she smacked me a bit and all those pesky doubts fucked right off,”  Ron snickered.  “My mum says you and Hermione are well suited.  You can’t tell Hermione that though.  Mum thinks it’s hilarious to carry on about Hermione marrying me.  As if that would ever happen.”

 

Draco growled low in his chest and then baulked away from the sound in surprise.  The very idea of Ronald Weasley courting  _ his _ witch set his blood on fire.  He didn’t understand the overwhelming wave of possessiveness that cloaked him and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.  

 

His parents had been incredibly tight lipped about everything after his stint in St Mungo’s.  It was fairly disconcerting considering his mother merely prattled on and on about the Muggleborn witch that had brought his son to safety.  Draco knew his mother was never that obvious without reason, but the reasoning behind it eluded him.

 

“Malfoy, we need to get out of here.  You’re growling like some sort of beast and Nott just walked in.  I’m not in the mood to listen to him lament the loss of his witch.  I wouldn’t have let her go if it had been me.  Mum says that makes me selfish and that I should want any witch to be happy and I do.  I just want the witch I want to be happy with me.”

 

“She didn’t love him, Weasley,”  Draco nodded curtly toward Theo and flinched away from the longing gaze in the other man’s eyes.  “He loved her enough to want her to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him.  I still don’t understand how she chose fucking Longbottom, but that’s neither here nor there I suppose.”

 

“Wait,”  Ron leant forward and hissed.  “Nott’s bird was Hannah?  You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?  There’s no fucking way that—“

 

“Shut it.  It was an arrangement between their parents.  Nott simply fell for the bint and her affections had always been elsewhere.  She wasn’t unkind to him, but her bloody Hufflepuff nature allowed him to believe there was hope when there wasn’t any.”

 

Draco suddenly pushed away from the pub table and lurched to his feet.  He wavered for a moment and wiped his palms down his pale face.  The air in the pub was suddenly thick and it made it difficult for him to breathe.  He wanted to go home, but in his current state, Apparition was out of the question.

 

“Oi, let’s Floo.  I dislike the idea of splinching again.”

 

“Again?”  asked Draco.

 

“Yeah, ask Hermione about it.  Hey, isn’t today Saturday?”

 

Draco ignored Ron and stepped into the green flames near the back of the Leaky.  He mumbled his destination and hoped he’d arrive.  He probably should have been more concerned, but he wasn’t.  His thoughts were filled with wide brown eyes and bee stung pink lips.

 

“Get off me,”  Draco groaned.

 

He blinked his bleary eyes and shoved the mass off him.  He groaned and had half a mind to close his eyes.  His parents would find him eventually and they’d berate his lack of dignity but he was fucking tired.

 

“Malfoy, your parents are in the garden and they’ve guests,”  Ron squinted as he gazed down the corridor.  “I smell food.”

 

“You always smell food.  Help me up you bastard,”  Draco tossed his arm into the waiting hand and moaned dramatically when Ron yanked him to his feet.

 

He inhaled deeply and wavered on his feet.  His grey eyes snapped open and his breaths rapidly increased.  Draco inhaled once more and despite his inebriated state, he felt quite invigorated.

 

Ron scurried after the tall, pale, blond and secretly hoped they were headed toward the vittles.  He flinched away from the fresh air that assailed his nostrils and frowned when the sunlight pricked his blue eyes.  He didn’t want sunshine and fresh air.  He wanted a full belly and a kip.

 

“Draco!”

 

“Bollocks,”  Ron muttered.

 

Narcissa Malfoy stood in all her regal finery and glared at her unwelcome guests.  She looked to her husband to reprimand their only child, but Lucius was busy batting away the insistent hands of Luna Lovegood.  It would have been quite amusing under different circumstances, but Narcissa narrowed her blue eyes and her glare varied between her husband and son.

 

“Granger,”  Draco snarled.

 

“Malfoy,”  Hermione hissed.

 

Lucius Malfoy’s blurred eyes focused on the tension between the two and he groaned, quite loudly.  He still had high hopes his son hadn’t enforced the bond.  It was only a small bite.  He hadn’t exacerbated it by repeating the gesture.  There was still hope.

 

Draco could change his mind.  He could very well decide it was in his best interest to turn his affections to the pretty little Greengrass chit.  At least she had an affinity for cock.  Lucius mightn’t have been able to rise to the occasion, but he did recall her enthusiastic efforts.  He didn’t necessarily want to shag his future daughter-in-law, but what man would decline warm supple lips wrapped around their bits?

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”  Draco sneered quite nastily and grasped her arm.

 

“Your mother invited me,”  Hermione struggled, but his fingers were iron on her skin.  “You’re drunk.”

 

“You’re insolent.  I’ve half a mind to set you over my knee,”  Draco leered appreciatively at her gentle curve of exposed cleavage.

 

“Sweetheart!”  Lucius lurched to his feet with a desperate shout.  “Bring my son and his heathen guest a Sobering Potion, immediately!”

 

His stomach rolled dangerously as he watched Draco and Hermione’s interactions.  He didn’t like the way Draco carefully extricated the witch from her chair and stood entirely too close to be proper.  He detested the way his son studied the glaringly obvious set of white teeth marks on her throat.  He nearly lost his mind when Draco’s fingertips touched the girl’s pulse point. 

 

“Thank you for having me, Mrs Malfoy,”  Hermione stuttered and pushed away from Draco’s hard chest.

 

Draco allowed his hands to drop and stepped away from her.  He looked to Weasley, but that tosser was busy stuffing his face with biscuits and scones.  Utterly useless, as usual.  He wanted to sink his teeth into Granger’s neck.  He wanted to peel her dress off and watch it pool at his feet.  Instead, he clenched his jaw and watched Hermione and Luna depart with promises of owls.

 

“He’s impossible,”  Narcissa scoffed as she watched her son angrily stride through her rose bushes.

 

“He’s a Malfoy,”  Lucius offered with barely a glance in her direction.  “This is your doing, you and that Lovegood girl.  If you hadn’t continuously pressed him toward that insipid Greengrass wretch, he would have married her.  He would have given me beautiful blond grandchildren.  Instead, there’s a chance we’ll be strapped with that horrid little Mud-Muggleborn.  You and your meddling will be the death of me.”

 

“You realise he believes Astoria was your choice, don’t you?  I implicated you quite well actually.  Don’t look at me like that.  You should be thanking me.  Our grandchildren would have been stupid.  Stupidity is always inherited and I simply cannot abide the thought of stupidity as a dominant trait in our legacy,”  Narcissa dabbed the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin and set her tea in its saucer.

 

Lucius grunted and poured himself a healthy draught of firewhiskey while he ignored his wife’s disapproving frown.  If he wanted to drink during the midday, who was to stop him?  There was nothing better to do since the Wizarding World was filled with happiness and horribleness.

 

“She’s pretty.  I like pretty.  I chose you, didn’t I?”  He leered at his wife with a knowing smile until she blushed prettily.

 

“Yes fine, she’s pretty, but you knew the choice wasn’t ours.  You hoped it would be ours, and I can’t say I wasn’t wishing the same, but it’s better this way, Lucius.”

 

“Better this way?  You were instrumental in pushing them toward each other.  How is it better?”

 

“I did no such thing.  I simply observed our son and the way his thoughts constantly drifted toward her.  It’s obvious if you ever paid attention to more than the bottom of your goblet, Lucius.  Are you incapable of recalling the way he’d rant and rave about her?  It was only a matter of time and so what if I just so happened to send the Malfoy Ring with the Contract to the Ministry?”

 

“You did what?”  Lucius leant forward and braced himself on his elbows and his upper lip twitched in distaste.

 

“I can hear you, you realise?”  Draco shouted from the safety of the rose bushes.  “You keep assuming it’s Granger, well let me assure you, it most definitely is not!”  He lied.

 

“You’re a liar,”  Ron chortled.

 

“You’re a Weasley,”  Draco scoffed and angrily tore a white bloom from it’s prickled stem.

  
  



	7. 7

_ Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Potter.  – Minerva McGonagall _

* * *

 

 

Harry Potter lazily thrust into the witch beneath him with mild interest at best.  Her faux moans of pleasure filled his ears and he felt his erection waning.  There had been a time, he swore there had been a time when he had cared deeply for his wife.  He couldn’t recall the time, but he was adamant it had existed.

 

It was pure folly to marry his mate’s ex-girlfriend, but Harry had been an honourable wizard.  Lavender Brown had come to him with fear and trembling.  She had sobbed something about a Protection Charm gone wrong and that was that.  He had to marry her.

 

Molly Weasley had told him he was an honourable man, but Harry hadn’t felt that way at all.  He felt suffocated and trapped.  He felt as though he had been robbed of his future when it was the only thing that was truly his.  A madman had stolen his childhood and his future had been pilfered by a woman he didn’t love.

 

Harry watched Lavender’s large breasts bounce and it wasn’t an unwelcome sight, but those mewling sounds were something else entirely.  He couldn’t stand them.  He often wondered if she had ever been pregnant at all, but knew it would be unkind to ask.

 

“Why do you do that?”  Harry finally muttered.

 

“You used to like the noises I made when we made love,”  Lavender frowned.

 

“I liked them when you meant them, but you and I both know you don’t mean them anymore,”  Harry finally gave up and rolled off his wife.

 

Lavender Potter sat up and scrunched the sheet around her breasts.  She knew he wasn’t happy.  She tried, but she had always been a jealous woman.  She hated the way she used to catch him gazing longingly at Hermione Granger.  She wanted him to look at her that way dammit.  The prestige of being Mrs Harry Potter wasn’t everything she thought it would be.

 

“Harry, I want a baby.”

 

Harry incredulously stared at his wife, his mouth agape.  They weren't remotely happy and she wanted to add a squalling infant to their lives?  The last thing he wanted was to have a child, let alone with her.

 

“Lav, I think—“  Harry paused and tugged on his midnight locks.  “I want a divorce.”

 

“You and Ron keep throwing around that word as if it’s a possibility,”  Lavender scoffed.  “Draco Malfoy didn’t even bother to tell you the truth of the matter.  If you had been raised by wizards, you would know it’s nearly impossible to get a hearing with the Wizengamot.”

 

“It isn’t impossible.  I know the Minister for Magic, personally.  I’m Harry Potter.  They wouldn’t refuse me, Lav,”  Harry rolled his eyes and snatched his spectacles off the nightstand.

 

“Of course it isn’t impossible, Harry.  In fact, they’ll suggest Marriage Therapies,”  Lavender huffed and tossed a shapeless housedress over her head.  “I’ve asked Luna to come by for a consult.”

 

“What?  A consult for what?”  Harry slipped into a pair of red plaid boxers and scratched his chest.

 

“Do you ever listen?”  Lavender sighed.  “Luna runs that little shop near Knockturn Alley.  Naughty Nargles, it’s scandalous really.  She specialises in risqué nightwear and apparently, she has quite the selection of vibrating wands.  I told you all about it last week at dinner.  Anyway, she’s offering consultations to couples that wish to spice up their sex life.  Based on this morning’s performance, it couldn’t hurt to have a chat.  She should be here at half nine.”

 

Lavender hastily made the bed, while Harry stood still.  He attempted to process her words, but it really didn’t make sense to him.  He’d told his wife he wanted a divorce and her response was a sex consult.

 

“Lavender, it’s half nine  _ now _ .”

 

Lavender squeaked in alarm and hurried from their bedchamber.  She quickly finger combed her unruly blonde waves and hurried into the sitting room as the green flames roared to life.  She smiled tightly when Luna Lovegood stepped into the room.

 

“Wotcher, Lavender,”  Luna swung her extraordinarily large flower patterned bag and set it on the coffee table with a low grunt.  “Harry.”

 

“Er, Luna,”  Harry mumbled.

 

He hastily escaped to the kitchen and prayed the water was still hot enough to procure a cup of tea.  He realised his Oxford was buttoned improperly and shook his head.  There was something about Luna that made him a bit nervous.  

 

Harry knew he didn’t have a definitive reason for such things, but it was quite true.  He’d often catch her studying him or even smiling in that knowing fashion of hers.  She was attractive, any fool knew that, but she was also incredibly odd.  

 

“Harry!”  Lavender shouted.

 

He groaned and yet managed to pour a cup of tea before he stepped into the great room with a sense of dread.  Harry wasn't the least bit interested in the items Luna had carefully set on the coffee table, but it seemed his wife was absolutely riveted.  It was much easier to stare at the scuff on his shoes than focus on their whispered conversation.

 

“Do you like it, Harry?”

 

Harry lifted his head and stared directly into cornflower blue eyes that did strange things to the patter of his heart.  He watched her elegant fingers float in the air and breezily point toward his wife.  With regret, Harry focused on Lavender and gulped heavily.

 

“What do you think?”  Lavender asked breathily.

 

“Oh uhm, I think there should be more to it,”  Harry nodded, quite satisfied with his answer.

 

Lavender blushed and he swore he saw tears, but that couldn’t be right.  Lavender never cried.  She shouted.  She hexed.  She threw things.  She demanded.  She never cried.

 

“Harry, that was unkind,”  Luna sighed.

 

Harry’s eyes dropped to the sway of Luna’s hips and he felt a stirring in his loins.  He tried to avert his gaze, but the swing of her breasts called to him and he bloody well knew they were swinging delightfully free beneath her blouse.  Harry bit his knuckles to contain the moan of desire.

 

“I don’t know what it is, I’m sorry,”  he finally said.

 

“It’s a bedroom aid.  Lavender told me you were having some troubles in the bedroom.  We decided a few enticing ensembles might perk up your sad little fellow.”

 

Luna Lovegood winked saucily over Lavender’s shoulder and scrunched her nose in delight when Harry quickly sat on the settee.  She manipulated Lavender’s breasts into a daring nightie and led her toward Harry.  She knew Lavender needed results, but she also knew they were not well suited to one another.

 

She pushed Lavender to the coffee table and pressed her hands on the witch’s shoulders.  Luna toyed with Lavender’s lush hair and piled it on top of the woman’s head while they waited for Harry’s acknowledgement.  She cleared her throat and green eyes were locked on her.

 

“I think this should be more to your liking, Harry.  Close your eyes for a moment and picture her reclined upon your bed, willing and waiting for you,”  As Luna spoke she lifted her blouse until it rested on her head.  “Now open your eyes.”

 

Harry did exactly as he was instructed.  He much preferred his eyes closed in all honesty.  It’s not that Lavender wasn’t an attractive woman, she was.  Harry just thought she tried too hard.

 

“Bloody hell,”  Harry gasped.

 

Lavender beamed and exhaled in relief when she saw the tent in his trousers.  She closed her eyes and preened under his scrutiny, but little did she know, he wasn’t looking at her.  Instead, he stared hungrily at the now topless blonde.

 

Harry had never strayed from his wife and for the first time, he desperately wanted to.  He wanted to toss Luna onto the settee and shag her senseless.  He wanted to taste her pink-pebbled peaks until she moaned like a dirty whore.  He wanted to dig his fingers into her supple arse and he didn’t know what to do about it.

 

Harry licked his lips and realised Luna’s bare chest was covered with a delicious pink blush.  He groaned in need and suddenly it was Lavender’s hand on his knee.  He smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes, not that she could tell.  He knew she was far more pleased with his reactions than she should be and Harry was content to allow her to revel in lies.

 

He watched, disappointed, as Luna covered her bare chest once more. Lavender’s hand was moving closer and closer to his cock and he suddenly needed to get out of the room. 

 

“I need more tea!”  Harry shouted and pushed to his feet.

 

“Hmm, tea sounds lovely.  Lavender, why don’t you set out the rest of the items?”  Luna called over her shoulder and followed Harry into the modest kitchen.

 

She stood entirely too close for his liking when he set the kettle on.  That was a lie.  He liked it quite a bit more than he should.  He felt slightly guilty but at the same time he was so excited by desire, it blurred the lines.

 

“You don’t love her,”  Luna crooned into his ear.

 

“Wh-what?”

 

Luna Lovegood squeezed Harry’s arse and pressed her untethered breasts into his back.  She liked the muted moan that escaped his lips and forcefully spun him around.  She boxed him with her hands on the sink basin and leant forward to lick his neck.

 

“If you loved her, truly loved her, you wouldn’t be panting after me like this,”  Luna whispered against Harry’s lips and he wondered when he had shoved his hands into her blouse.  “You love the stability she symbolizes.  You love her extraordinary heart.  You love the way she looks at you, but you definitely don’t want to shag her the way you want to shag me.”

 

Harry’s head spun and he hadn’t the slightest idea what the fuck she was talking about, but he didn’t care.  He was touching her breasts.  It was exciting and ridiculously naughty to maul her with his insipid wife in the next room, but he couldn’t help it.  He didn’t want to help it.

 

“Wh-who are you talking about?”  Harry grunted.

 

Harry chanced her wrath and nipped her throat, but Luna only sighed.  He released her breasts and gripped her hip and her arse while his hips flexed into hers.  Gods, he wanted her.  He wanted to bend her over the bistro table and listen to her moan.

 

“Hermione,”  Luna murmured as she drew Harry’s hand up her skirt.

 

“Fuck,”  Harry panted.  “You’re not wearing knickers.”

 

Harry shuddered while his fingertips glanced over her sex.  She was exceedingly wet and his cock ached in his trousers.  It was easy to settle into a rhythmic motion and Luna swayed with her lips parted and her head hung flung back.  He moved faster, deeper, and harder, determined to see this magnificent witch come undone.

 

Luna held Harry's shoulders and stared into his green eyes.  Her breaths escaped in little puffs and her toes curled in her black flats.  Her minute whimpers grew steadily louder and they easily ignored the whistle of the kettle.  Luna latched onto Harry's lips and drowned the sounds of her shuddered release in his mouth.

 

"You're much better at that than Lavender said,"  Luna quipped as she poured the water over the tea leaves.  "I think next time I'd rather enjoy utilising your cock."

 

Harry stared incredulously.  He didn’t know what the fuck to say to that.  He waited for the heavy cloud of guilt to fill him, but it didn’t come.  Harry Potter felt free.

 

“Can we show Harry the wands?”  Lavender asked the moment Harry returned and sat on the boring beige settee.

 

Lavender’s light brown eyes sparkled with such happiness, far be it for Harry to inform her he didn’t wish to see whatever sexual contraption she referred to.  However, Luna smiled, quite demurely even, and once more, Harry’s thoughts segued to her enticing breasts.  He didn’t even mind the insistent hand mauling him through his trousers as long as he could stare at the pretty little blonde bent over the coffee table.

 

"These are only a small portion of my collection of vibrating wands,"  Luna licked her lips quickly and Harry wished he was licking her lips until he glanced at the strange objects in her hands.

 

“Uhm, Luna, that doesn’t look like a wand at all,”  Harry muttered nervously.

 

He hastily batted away Lavender’s hot hand on his bollocks and forced himself to stand.  Carefully, he edged toward the Floo, determined to escape the madness in his house.  Harry definitely didn’t trust his wife with one of those in her hands.  Merlin only knew what she planned to do with it and he wished no part of that.

 

“Of course not, Harry,”  Luna grasped a particularly large, thick  _ wand _ and shook it slightly.

 

Harry Potter’s eyebrows rose into his hairline while green eyes were riveted by the object bobbing ever so gently in Luna’s hands.  He gulped loudly and cleared his throat, but couldn’t force his lips to part with a scathing retort.

 

“It’s a euphemism for cock,”  said Luna with a blindingly bright smile.

 

Lavender and Luna shared a conspiratorial grin and it was in that exact moment Harry made his escape.  He ran for the Floo and tossed a scant handful of powder into the hearth.  The green flames burst forth and while he was vaguely aware of his wife shouting at him, he ignored her and shouted his destination.

 

“I suppose he didn’t want to play then,”  Lavender commented sullenly and slumped onto the settee.

 

* * *

 

 

“Potter?”

 

Theodore Nott frowned at the Auror and waited for the dishevelled man to compose himself.  He hadn't expected Harry would want to accompany them to Hogwarts and yet there he was.  He was an absolute disaster, but he was there.  Theo looked to Hermione, but she only shrugged, obviously just as confused.

 

“Thank God,”  Harry breathed.  “Hermione, do you mind if I have a word with Nott?”

 

Normally, Hermione would have bristled at being so easily dismissed but the pure unadulterated confusion laced with desperation in Harry's face had her offering a curt nod.  She pushed the door and stepped into the crisp air.  She didn't mind the walk up to Hogwarts alone.  She’d done it for ages, after all.

 

“What are you doing here, Potter?”  Theodore Nott pushed Harry onto a rickety stool and crossed his arms.

 

“What would you like, dearie?”  Madam Rosmerta patted Harry on the back with rosy cheeks and a brilliant smile.

 

“Firewhiskey,  all of the firewhiskey,”  Harry hissed.

 

“What on earth happened to you?  Are you here to help with the Hex or to get drunk?”  Theo begrudgingly sat beside the harrowed man and frowned heavily.

 

“Drunk, definitely drunk.”  Harry greedily downed his tumbler of firewhiskey and impatiently waited for Rosmerta to refill it before he turned to the brooding wizard.  “I cheated on my wife and I liked it.”

 

“About fucking time, Potter.  Weasley owes me 50 galleons,”  Theo’s frown segued into a smile that scared Harry.  “Who was it?  No, don’t tell me.  Let me guess.  Hmm, well it wasn’t Granger.  I can’t see you touching Pansy on purpose.  Astoria is busy trying to get into Malfoy’s trousers.  Who the fuck is left?”

 

“Lovegood,”  Harry offered.

 

“Hmm yes,”  Theo nodded knowingly.  “She’s saucy.  I bet she’s a tigress between the sheets.”

 

“I-I wouldn’t know actually.  We didn’t make it that far, but she did distinctly mention a next time.”

 

Theodore Nott’s guffaw filled the Three Broomsticks and the older patrons glowered accordingly.  He snatched Harry’s glass and took a healthy swallow before he slapped the man’s back in congratulations.  He nearly mussed Harry's hair but decided against it in the end.  There was no need to make a bad situation worse.

 

“Wonderful.  Tell me all about it on the walk up to Hogwarts.  You’re here, might as well work.”

 

Harry nodded, albeit unsteadily and lurched to his feet.  He tossed a handful of coins onto the counter and stuffed the firewhiskey bottle under his arm.  He enjoyed the fuzzy feeling that invaded his senses.  It had been entirely too long since he simply let go.

 

“Ron and Malfoy go for drinks, did you know that?”  Harry kept his eyes on his feet and watched in fascination as they moved one in front of the other.

 

“Longbottom and I go for drinks, what of it, Potter?”

 

“It’s weird, isn’t it weird?  He’s Malfoy and and-and they’re going for drinks and stopping by the Manor and he’s having secret fucking conversations with Narcissa Malfoy and I don’t know what the fuck is going on,”  Harry growled.

 

Theo decided it was best to remain silent in these sorts of situations.  He was inherently Slytherin by nature and it would never do to show his hand.  He was more than aware of the fact his mate’s mother was scheming behind the scenes.  It was in her nature.

 

He had seen Narcissa Malfoy’s narrowed blue eyes and pursed lips.  He recognised her calculating glare nearly as well as his own.  Theo recalled the mentions of a bite mark and Veela Tendencies, whatever the fuck that meant, but he was patient.  It would all be stripped bare in the end.

 

“Ron says he still loves her, but he can’t mean like  _ that _ , can he?”  Harry stumbled into Theo’s side and hiccupped loudly.  “They broke up and now he’s going on about how much h-he loves her and wants to build a life and family and all that rot.”

 

“Potter, I’m not the least bit interested in Weasley’s love life.  You shouldn’t be either.  What the fuck do you care if he sets his sights on Granger again?  You’ve a wife, a horrible, irritating, soul ravaging wife, but a wife nonetheless.  From the sound of it, you’ve also a side bint.  I think you’ve plenty to worry about and none of it has fuckall to do with Weasley,”  Theo shoved the bumbling bloke a bit and curled his lip at Potter’s lack of manners.

 

“Luna says I’m not even in love with Hermione—“

 

“I bloody well said that Potter!”  Theo snarled and restrained the jinx on the tip of his tongue.

 

“Yeah, I know, but Luna said I loved what Hermione symbolized—“

 

“I said that as well!”  Theo squinted and imagined Harry exploding into pieces.  “Sure, believe the loony bint that chatters about Nargles, not the bloke—"

 

"Nott,"  Harry jerked to a stop and waved his hands erratically.  "This isn't about you.  You're very self-centred!"

 

Theodore Nott gaped at Harry and literally saw red.  He knew Hermione would never forgive him if he blasted Harry Potter to bits but fuck he was tempted.  He reasoned that not even Voldemort had been able to banish the irritating wanker of a Gryffindor.  Theo casually wondered what would happen if he cast the Killing Curse on the bloke, but then Potter picked that moment to continue his drunken rambles.

 

“H-how many divorces does the Wizengamot have on record?”  Harry asked as they finally trudged up the steps that led to the Entrance of Hogwarts.

 

“What’s a divorce?”  Theo asked with a wince as his voice echoed in the nearly empty castle.

  
“It’s a Dissolution of Marriage, Theo.  You’re late,”  Hermione Granger tapped her foot with such a sour look on her face it reminded him of McGonagall.

 

Harry blinked his bloodshot bleary eyes and grimaced.  He didn’t particularly enjoy being around Hermione when he was intoxicated.  She had a tendency to shriek at him and no one found that enjoyable.

 

“I’m assuming you’ve gotten permission then?”  Theo teased.  “Based on the intense furrow of your brow and that swotty little glimmer in your eye, I also suspect you’re onto something as well.”

 

“Yes, well if you hadn’t taken hours to get your arse up here, you’d already be in the know, wouldn’t you?”  Hermione huffed and tossed her head.

 

“I think—“  Harry began, “yeah, I think I’d like to visit Gryffindor Tower.”

 

“I think you’re completely pissed and looking to take a kip,”  Hermione snarled.  “I haven’t got all day, Nott.”

 

She turned on her toes and set up the nearest staircase.  Ordinarily, Theo would have allowed his eyes to graze her backside in appreciation, but he knew better.  In fact, before he had even completed the thought, Hermione glared over her shoulder.  With a groan laced sigh, Theo pushed Harry toward the stairs and set after her.

 

The sinfully quiet library was nearly as he remembered it.  Madam Pince still managed to sniff with disdain.  It still had that musty sort of lingering scent that clung to your robes.  However, it seemed Hermione had pushed a few tables together and covered them with books, parchment, quills, and inkpots.

 

“I’ve spoken with Headmistress McGonagall.  She’s allowed us unrestricted use of the Restricted Section, but only for today,”  Hermione immediately set to task.  “Fortunately, I kept my collection of journals.  I've pulled the books I used to create the original Hex and have compiled all the information on that roll of parchment there,"  Hermione pointed.

 

“Why am I here?”  Harry asked as he slumped into a nearby chair.

 

“I’m impressed Granger,”  Theo commented.  “This is a nice bit of Dark Magic.  I didn’t know you had it in you.”

 

Theo perused her immaculate notes and rubbed the crease between his eyes.  He wondered why he was forced to accompany her to Hogwarts when she hadn’t a need for his assistance at all.  He set to task regardless and plucked an insidious looking book from the pile with his fingertips.

 

“I used to wank in that corner over there,”  Harry laughed.

 

“Granger,”  Theo breathed.

 

“Yes, I heard Harry’s declaration and chose to ignore it, thank you,”  Hermione pursed her lips in obvious displeasure as her quill flew across the parchment.

 

“Ya, it was great, really great.  It was a bit messy and there was that time I got caught, but definitely worth the look on Cho's face,"  Harry sighed dreamily.

 

“Potter, put your cock away.  Granger, you need to see this,”  Theo slammed the heavy book onto the table and Hermione jumped in alarm.

 

There was something in his eyes that had her nodding.  She’d never seen Theodore Nott afraid.  She’d seen him apathetic, aloof, pompous, sarcastic, and irritated, but never had she seen him fearful.  His brown eyes had darkened to near black.  Hermione watched him press his fingertips against the smooth wood and knew something was wrong.

 

“Why?”  Harry sputtered.  “It’s my cock!”  Harry stood and undulated his hips suggestively,  “If I want to wave it about in the middle of the fucking library, well, the old battle-axe isn’t here so—“

 

“Mr Potter!”

 

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall strode into the Hogwarts Library with fire in her blue eyes and anger splashed across her withered face.  Her robes rustled as she walked and it pleased her to see Harry Potter stuff his cock back into his trousers.  Even after all these years, she still incited fear into her former students, just the way she liked it.

 

“Oh fuck.”

 

Hermione gasped and quickly gathered her books into a presentable pile.  She had always detested a slovenly workspace and to have her former Professor see her at her worst would never do.  She ignored the way Harry grunted and struggled with his zip and hoped Theo could manage to hold his tongue.

 

“Headmistress McGonagall, we weren’t expecting you,”  Hermione nervously chattered.

 

“Ms Granger,”  McGonagall sniffed,  “that much was obvious by Mr Potter’s juvenile behaviours.  It seems his habits have remained the same,”  she shuddered.  “I knew I should have had Severus Obliviate me when he offered.”

 

“Potter said Chang caught him,”  Theo chuckled.

 

“Potter is delusional,”  Minerva smirked.  “From the set of Mr Nott’s brow, it looks as though he’s discovered something rather important.”

 

Hermione’s head whipped toward Theo and her eyes settled on the firm set of his thin lips.  McGonagall’s arrival had distracted her for a few moments, but it didn’t take long for her mind to clear.  She hesitantly reached for the book and refused to shiver away from the darkness she could feel emanating from it.

 

“No!  You can’t!”  Theo gripped the book with white knuckles and scurried away from her.

 

“He’s quite right, Ms Granger.  It would be best if you didn't touch it,"  Minerva scowled at the offending tome.  "There are many books hidden away in the Restricted Section of Hogwarts that were decreed illegal by the Wizengamot.   _ Eradication in Modern Magical Times _ is sadly one of those books and considering your Muggle-born heritage, if you value your life, do not touch it.”

 

“W-what did you find?”  

 

Hermione struggled with the limitations as it was evidenced by the twitch of her fingers.  Her fingernails dug into her palms until she felt the sting of blood mingled with sweat.  Despite the changes in the Wizarding World, it drove her to the brink of madness to know there was still so much she didn’t know.  There were still so many darkened corners that were dangerous to those exactly like her and Hermione knew it most likely wouldn’t change in her lifetime.

 

“There’s an entire section on spell alterations.  It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,”  Theo murmured with confusion.  “It’s quite similar to Transfiguration, but with spells.  I didn’t know such a thing was possible.”

 

Harry tapped quite the annoying tune on the edge of a mahogany desk and ignored the gasps and whispers around him.  He didn’t care what sort of whatever had been created.  It wasn’t his job to care.  It was his job to capture the bastards and send them straight to Azkaban.

 

He cared about a lot of things, really.  He’d cared about ending the Dark Lord and locking up the remaining Death Eaters.  He’d cared about Ginny Weasley, but look where that got him.  Harry was tired of caring about everything all the time.  It was bloody exhausting.  What he really wanted was a nice kip.

 

Harry climbed into a lumpy old armchair near the window and pressed his forehead against the cool glass.  He’d always liked the feel of ice against his skin.  It soothed the heat of confusion that constantly ran through his veins.  It was in those silent moments that he missed Ginny the most, though he’d never admit it.

 

“Ah yes,”  Headmistress McGonagall shuddered in distaste.  “I’d often heard of such practices, but I was never one to indulge in the Dark Arts.”

 

“What does it do?”  Hermione inquired.

 

She had her quill at the ready and her intensity laced with her magic caused her hair to burst from its coif.  She shoved her lightly frizzed curls behind her ears in irritation tinged with habit.  She was furious and it had nothing to do with Harry or even Draco Malfoy.  She was angry with herself.

Hermione regretted the creation of the hex.  She regretted allowing her anger to get the best of her.  She regretted teaching it to the other members of Dumbledore’s Army, but she also didn’t like to dwell on her regrets.  It would do nothing to solve the issue at hand.

 

“It allows the caster to alter the spell in question.  From the looks of it, this particular incantation can allow the spell to be imbued into a Potion.  There’s another that can then turn it into some sort of gas I think,”  Theo winced as he touched the page and felt the Dark Magic lash out at him.

 

“Be careful, Mr Nott,”  Minerva snapped while she read over his shoulder.  “You are absolutely correct.  Take Ms Granger's creation for example.  One would need to brew a simple Healing Potion, recite the incantation from that deplorable tome, and point their wand directly into the Potion.  The moment the wand touches the Potion is when the caster would recite the spell they wished to alter."

 

“Once the Potion cools,”  Theo interjected, “it is immediately bottled and requires to rest for seventy-two hours.  Once the cork is removed, the mist is released and affects everyone in the vicinity.”

 

“Mist Maker!”  Harry Potter shouted before he dissolved into ridiculous giggles.

 

“Minister Shacklebolt needs to be informed immediately.  Give me the book.  I shall send it to the Ministry with a detailed owl.  I expect the Unspeakables will take over the bulk of the research and I’m sure they’ll wish to speak to you, Ms Granger,”  Minerva’s lips pressed together in a firm line of disappointment.  “Please remove Mr Potter from Hogwarts' grounds immediately.  I bid you good day."

 

Theo and Hermione observed the Headmistress sweep from the library and released their held breaths.  In silence, they gathered their research materials and set the books to return to their shelves.  Hermione ignored Harry and Theo knew it would fall to him to get the drunken lout back to the village of Hogsmeade.

 

“I’ll see to Potter,”  Theo rolled his eyes.  “You best set after McGonagall.  I know you’ve got questions and I wager they haven’t fuckall to do with this case.”

 

Hermione nodded her thanks and ignored his unasked question.  He wasn’t wrong.  She did have questions, yet they revolved around a personal nature rather than the case at hand.  She was nervous, but she couldn’t overlook the opportunity to speak to her mentor.

 

“Headmistress?”  Hermione called down the corridor and moved swiftly.  She felt hope flutter in her chest when the older witch paused.  Hermione tentatively stepped forward after she cast a furtive glance over her shoulder.  “What do you know about…Veela Tendencies?”

 

Minerva sighed and shook her head sadly as she turned.  In an uncustomary show of affection, she smoothed her wrinkled hand over Hermione’s boisterous curls.  She gently shoved the caramel strands off Hermione’s neck and studied the stark white mark embedded in her former student’s throat.

 

“Mr Malfoy’s work I presume,”  McGonagall sniffed.  “It was only a matter of time.”

 

“Matter of time?  What do you mean?  It isn’t real, is it?  I can’t find anything and I’ve only Narcissa Malfoy’s word on the matter and please, it can’t be true.”

 

Minerva's crystal blue eyes narrowed with contemplation.  She studied the quiet desperation and the girl's precarious hold on her control.  She wished she had the antidote to Hermione's upset, but it wasn't something that could be fixed.

 

“You poor girl.  You never had a chance.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 


	8. 8

_ I swear, sometimes it’s like you want me to hate you.  – Hermione Granger _

* * *

 

 

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat at the head of the large conference table and surveyed the witches and wizards surrounding him.  He didn't usually attend such menial events, but the rising issues within Muggle London had forced his hand.  He ordered the Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Investigators to congregate together in order to properly work toward finding the culprit to the attacks.

 

He had read Theodore Nott’s report so many times the parchment had thinned at the corners.  It wasn’t a simple matter to inform the Muggle Minister the truth of the matter.  In fact, it had been a humiliating experience he’d rather not repeat.  Kingsley couldn’t recall a time he’d been reduced to a stammering fool.

 

“I’m going to assume Investigator Nott’s report has been read, reread and memorised.”  The Minister for Magic stood as his voice boomed over the idle chatter.  “Is everyone present and accounted for?”  Kingsley eyed the empty seat beside Draco Malfoy, yet the Hit Wizard remained stubbornly silent.

 

“Yes, sir.  We’ve limited the audience to the Aurors, Investigators, and Hit Wizards currently assigned to the case.  Smith is on convalescence due to a family issue, and Ms Granger, of course, is consulting with the Unspeakables concerning that Hex.”  Theodore Nott stood while he addressed the Minister, yet he noticed the stiffening of Draco’s posture.

 

"It has been brought to the attention of the Ministry of Magic, the troubles in the Muggle World are directly related to Wizardingkind.  Crimes against Muggles face much harsher penalties than in the days past, therefore we need to be diligent in our efforts to bring the culprit to justice."  Kingsley wiped a large dark palm down his face and sighed.  "Whatever is said in this room remains here.  Quick Quills are not to be utilised under any circumstances.  Notes are to be written on Charmed Parchment by Mr Malfoy, considering his partner is absent.  I've been on the receiving end of enough anger today, let's not add Ms Granger's to it."  The uncomfortable faux laughter didn’t ease the Minister’s angst in the least, but he launched directly into his agenda.

 

Draco Malfoy, however, wasn’t paying attention to the continuous droning of the Minister for Magic.  He gripped Hermione Granger’s Spelled Quill and left the illusion that he was taking copious notes.  He knew she’d be absolutely furious with him for nicking it, but Merlin, the Minister’s meetings were always at least two feet of parchment filled with tiny writing, and he hadn’t the patience nor the inclination.

 

He’d had a difficult time since being released from St. Mungo’s, though he wasn’t the sort of man to admit to such things.  He was plagued by dreams he didn’t quite understand, and it’s not as if he could broach the subject with his mother.  His very Pureblood mother that had been avoiding him for days on end and held no answers for him.  

 

Draco knew Hermione Granger had been avoiding him.  She hadn't stepped foot in his general vicinity in days.  She communicated via owl and was barely civil.  He didn't like it.  He didn't like it one bit.  Draco knew she wasn't the sort of witch to skive off work, therefore it was easy to assume she was simply working somewhere else within the Ministry, and the Minister had not provided the answers.

 

“Malfoy, the Minister’s released us for tea nearly twenty minutes ago.”  Theo clapped his hand onto his mate’s shoulder and startled the man.

 

“I’m aware, Nott.  I’m simply…thinking.”  Draco tapped the quill against the parchment in silent contemplation.

 

“Think later, come have a bite with me.”  Theo forcefully grasped Draco’s shoulder, until the parchment was neatly rolled and shoved into an inner pocket.

 

“I don’t want to go out,”  Draco growled, quite nastily.

 

“I figured as much.  I've sent for some takeaway,”  Theo rolled his eyes, used to Draco’s antics, and had planned for such.

 

They strode in silence toward the Hit Wizard offices, and Draco was pleased to see it was bereft of employees.  He had worked alone for a few years, and he hadn’t missed it nearly as much as he thought he would.  Draco had grown used to Hermione’s incessant chatter.  He’d grown used to her riotous curls landing in his mouth.  He’d grown used to more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

 

“My mother is avoiding me and communicating in much the same way Granger is, and I don’t like it.  Of course, you and I both know it isn’t my mother at all.  My father never managed to properly duplicate my mother’s handwriting, but it’s easier to allow him to pretend he’s fooled me,”  Draco propped his feet on his desk and paused, almost as though he were waiting for Hermione to reprimand him.

 

“Ah yes, the great and illustrious Lucius Malfoy.  What did your father have to say this go ‘round?  Is he still angry with you for soiling your perfectly tailored robes with Mudblood germs?”  Theo carefully removed the cartons of takeaway from a well-packed paper sack, and then there was a wand harshly jabbed into the small of his back.

 

“Don’t call her that.”  Draco’s menacing words had the desired effect as Theo froze before he responded with a curt nod.

 

“I forget sometimes, how much that particular word adversely affects you.  However, I do recall you uttering it at least once when we were children,”  Theo casually sidestepped the jabbing wand and spun on his heel with an offering of warm vittles.  “One day you’ll have to explain to me your strange Granger obsession.”

 

Draco resisted the urge to throw his wand onto his desk, and gently placed it beside the paper sack.  The waft of unfamiliar food intrigued him, but not quite enough to sample anything.  He was far too irritated to even entertain the thought of food.  It was easy enough to snatch a paper cup filled with a horrible cold concoction, which he immediately regretted.

 

“It isn’t an obsession.  It’s simple observations.  Did you know my bloody mother sent me to my fucking room like an errant toddler and entertained Ronald Weasley?  Merlin only knows what the fuck those two chatted about,”  Draco snarled.  “This is dreadful,”  Draco set the paper cup on the corner of his desk with a sniff.

 

“It’s iced coffee.  Apparently, it's all the rage.  It wasn't yours.  I noticed Granger has a liking for it and thought she might appreciate it after her meeting with the Unspeakables.”  Theo neglected to mention the fact she had asked him to pick up her order before her meeting, simply to needle Draco.

 

“Why do you know what she likes?  I wasn’t aware you were friends.”

 

Theo ignored the way Draco pouted and plucked a pair of wooden sticks from the paper sack.  He thrust them into his carton and delicately plucked a piece of chicken slathered in some sort of glaze.  He didn’t bother himself with details and chewed ever so slowly.

 

“You never did tell me what dear old dad had to say,”  Theo carefully patted his lips with a paper napkin he considered gauche, and waited.

 

“My  _ mother _ ,”  Draco emphasized, “sent me the Betrothal Contracts, despite the fact I told them I wasn’t interested in securing Astoria Greengrass.  My father is absolutely adamant.  It’s ridiculous.  I’m not a child.  If I don’t want to marry her, I shouldn’t have to.  I'm twenty-four years old, but you'd think my nappies still required changing,”  He sulked with his hand against his cheek, and it didn’t escape Theo’s attention the way Draco toyed with Hermione’s favourite quill.

 

“You could always tell your father the truth,”  Theo sucked his teeth for a moment and stroked his pointed jaw.  “I’m sorry Father, I absolutely cannot marry Astoria Greengrass.  I have an obsession with a Muggle-born witch and—”

 

“I am not obsessed,"  Draco's fist slammed against the dark wood desk and threw himself backwards in his chair.  "It's not as simple as that.  I don't know what it is.  It's driving me absolutely mad really.  I mean, we met when we were children.  I didn't much like her then, and the fact she was lauded as the best at everything didn’t make matters easier.  I thought it would be miserable working with her, but it’s not.  I can’t get her out of my head, Nott.  I don’t even like her, at least, I don’t think I do.  We're…we're friends and-and…we’ve—"  Draco stuttered and then paused as he struggled not only express himself but be honest with himself.

 

“Kissed.  Snogged.  Slapped.  Any and all of those really, Malfoy.  I think you’re fighting against the inevitable.  I do believe there’s attraction there, on both ends.  I also believe you’d rather shag a Hippogriff than to admit to such things.  I understand it.  We were raised to believe we were elite.  We’re Pureblood and therefore we’re the best.  It is up to us to set the example and to continue our family’s bloodlines.  Your parents, specifically your father, simply wish you to live up to a legacy that no longer exists.  If you wish to be treated as an adult, it’s time to act as though you are one.”  Theo’s pensive dark eyes flitted over Draco’s head and he offered Ron Weasley a barely perceptible nod.

 

He knew the wizard was eavesdropping.  Theo also suspected Hermione Granger stood in the shadows.  He didn't particularly care for the twitching smirk Weasley sported.  It was entirely too Slytherin for the hotheaded Gryffindor.  There was a nefarious plot afoot and Theo couldn’t wait to see it come to fruition.

 

“It’s not about being an adult.  I-I…I can’t get her the fuck out of my head, all right?  Is that what you want to hear?”  Draco’s breaths were erratic and he missed the muted gasp near the exit.

 

“I’m willing to listen, Malfoy,”  Theo was no longer concerned with their uninvited guests.  His friend was struggling more than a little, and he had watched the downward spiral from afar last time.  He couldn’t do it again.

 

“She’s been avoiding me, Nott!  I’m not even certain what happened, and my mother refuses to speak of it.  I thought it would get better if I didn’t see her, but that’s not the case at all.  It’s worse, Nott.”  Draco choked down a large quantity of iced coffee, but it didn’t stave off the uneasiness lodged in the depths of his stomach.  “When I woke in hospital, my nostrils were filled with this scent.  I couldn’t place it then.  I still can’t.  I was under the misconception it was Astoria, and I won’t be making that mistake again.  She’s the worst shag in the history of the world.”

 

“Worse than Pansy?”  Theo chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows conspiratorially.

 

“I don’t know?  I never touched Pansy thank you very much.  Regardless, it wasn’t Astoria.  Every time I close my eyes, it’s Granger.  I don’t know if it’s actually her, mind you, but my subconscious is a bit of a cunt lately,”  Draco stopped suddenly, fairly certain he’d heard a stifled laugh.

 

There was more, so much more he wanted to say, but wouldn’t.  Draco wouldn’t speak of the numerous showers he’d taken with his cock pulsating in his hand as he murmured her name.  He wouldn’t tell Theo he had kept the pillow from St. Mungo’s and Charmed the scent to remain.  He wouldn’t tell Theo how much he missed Hermione Granger, as it wasn’t something he was fond of admitting, even to himself.

 

Draco wasn’t aware of the slight scuffle near the back of the Hit Wizard offices.  He didn’t hear the muted disagreement that segued into spells being fired.  He didn’t hear anything at all other than the sound of his own breaths.

 

He blinked and she was there.  She hadn’t noticed him yet, as far as he knew anyway, and that was just the way Draco preferred it.  He liked to watch her when she was completely unaware.  He liked to study the furrow of her brow, the bounce of her curls and the way her teeth always seemed to find their way to worry her bottom lip.

 

“Harry, you might want to see to Ron, he’s being completely ridiculous,”  Hermione Granger thrust a quill into her bun and marched directly to her desk.  She left Ron bound in a storage closet, as she had lost her temper and tired of his habits.

 

“He’ll unbind himself once he calms down.  I’m going to assume he’s still pretty set on getting back together then?”  Harry inclined his head toward Theo Nott and completely ignored Draco Malfoy as he sauntered into the Hit Squad offices.

 

“He’s completely lost the plot.  He keeps going on and on about Molly expecting us to marry,”  Hermione shook her head in utter and complete exasperation with her former beau, only to lock eyes with the one wizard she had been avoiding.

 

She smirked at his empty paper cup and looked at Theodore, who merely shook his head.  Hermione knew Draco detested her iced coffee, and why he would force himself to drink it was only a testament to how much he had missed her.  Of course, Hermione knew better than to state such things in public, however, she would speak to him in depth at a later date.

 

“Sorry, Granger.  You know how he is,”  Theo removed a paper cup of Lady Grey, and offered it to her with a wink.

 

“Impatient as ever.  I suppose he didn’t even bother to ask, he simply helped himself to my drink.  You’re no better, Theo.  I’d pretend I was grateful for the favour, but it seems you’ve eaten my sustenance.  You realise you’re going to make this up to me?”  Hermione dropped a cube of sugar into the paper cup and took a small sip.

 

“Dinner on Saturday?”  Theo smiled slowly and enjoyed the immediate tension more than he probably should.  

 

He noted Harry Potter’s unease, yet strangely, his eyes were on Draco Malfoy.  It seemed Theo was not alone in his observations, and he was more than a little interested to see how Mr Potter would react to the situation.  Sadly, Theo was disappointed when Harry only closed his eyes and took a slow breath.  He supposed the Chosen One’s thoughts had segued to the bendy Lovegood witch, which was probably for the best.

 

“Sorry, I’ve already plans,”  Hermione refused to reveal her plans, and anyone looking at her could see her stubborn determination to remain secretive.

 

“Another time, perhaps?”  Theodore Nott had always enjoyed pushing his limits, and only the sound of a paper cup crumpling as it was slammed onto the desk caused him to cease his barbs.

 

“Perhaps.”  

 

Hermione and Theo knew it was senseless chatter that would never come to fruition, but Draco Malfoy’s pallor suggested otherwise.  He had paled considerably, yet his cheeks were hued pink.  His fingers trembled and he inhaled deeply, wondering if this was what Harry Potter felt every time someone else touched her.  He wasn’t fond of having anything in common with The Chosen Bastard, yet it couldn’t be helped.

 

“D’ya think Ron will properly propose?”  Harry coughed and his segue in conversation was awkward at best, but it cut through the tension easily enough.

 

Hermione laughed, and it really was a sweet, sweet sound.  Her hand flung forward and landed on Draco’s shoulder as she held herself aloft.  It took her a few moments, but she managed to stifle her laughter, though she didn’t remove her hand from his shoulder.  In fact, she contracted her fingers and squeezed gently.

 

"Oh Harry, I love you, but to answer your inappropriate question, absolutely not.  Knowing him the way we do, could you really imagine Ronald Weasley providing the slightest bit of pomp and circumstance?  I'm not that sort of witch regardless, but he'd leave a box on my desk with a half eaten chocolate frog and a smudged note.  Besides, I don't think I've got anything to worry about.  Molly can make all the plans she wishes.  It doesn't bother me.  In the end, it's my decision, and as much as I love Ron, he'll never change, and neither will I, which makes us ill-suited at best."  Hermione’s thumb stroked the back of Draco’s neck, and Theo pretended he couldn’t see the intimacy of the situation.

 

"I suppose this is a bad time to tell he's bought a ring then?"  Harry winced but felt it was far better Hermione be prepared than caught completely unaware.

 

Draco Malfoy pushed away from the desk.  He didn’t pause, even as Hermione’s hand fell from shoulder.  The room was stifling and he needed an escape.  He couldn’t sit there and listen to Hermione Granger and Harry Potter discussing her impending proposal.  He refused.

 

“Malfoy, wait!”  Draco heard Hermione call after him, but he strode toward the door as quickly as his feet would take him.

 

“I’ll see to him, Granger.”  Theo sighed and shook his head, yet quickly gave chase.

 

Hermione paused for a moment and then began shoving the takeaway cartons into the bin.  Harry stood idly by and watched her.  He was procrastinating and they both knew it.  They pretended they couldn't hear the raised voices in the corridor until finally, Hermione turned to Harry.

 

“Go home.”  She spat and it was then that Ron ambled from the storage room.

 

"That wasn't very nice, Hermione,"  Ron grumbled, but he didn't even mean it.  He knew she would be angry with him for his eavesdropping tendency, but he never could resist needling her.

 

“I’m going to see to Malfoy.  Harry, go home.  Ron, see to that owl, would you?”  Hermione gestured toward the imposing eagle owl that swooped through the Hit Wizard offices.  It definitely was not an ordinary sight, as the Ministry used Charmed parchment for interoffice memos, but she didn’t take a moment to dwell upon it.

 

While Hermione rushed into the corridor, Ron was carefully untying an awkward package from the leg of the angry owl.  He was nipped a few times and cursed under his breath, but he managed.  He tore the heavy paper off the package and opened the small box.

 

“What is it?”  Harry tried to look over Ron’s shoulder, but Ron snapped the box shut.

 

"It's a note from Lavender, it says go home,"  Ron shoved Harry in jest, but in the end, Harry sighed deeply and headed for the lift.

 

"I'm really unhappy,"  Harry finally admitted.  He kept his eyes on his shoes and half shrugged before the door swung closed behind him.

 

"I know, Harry.  I know,"  Ron Weasley shook his head, but there was nothing more to do.

 

Ron turned the box in his hands slowly and suddenly, he wondered what his brother George would do.  He chuckled and the twinkle of mischief shone in his blue eyes.  He rummaged in his pockets and nearly chortled with glee, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

 

He whistled a jaunty tune and casually placed the box on Hermione’s desk.  Ron considered eating half the chocolate frog he’d dug from the deep recesses of his pocket, but decided against it.  Instead, he propped it against the box with a slow smile.  He didn’t write a note as was expected of him.  Ron Weasley simply shoved his hands in his pockets and turned toward the exit with a bounce in his step.

 

The horrible owl screeched and Ron cringed at the sound.  He cursed under his breath and glared at the beast.  He and Narcissa hadn’t discussed a bloody reply.  He’d done exactly as she’d asked.  He knew Hermione better than anyone did and simply leaving the box where it could be found wasn’t remotely brilliant.  

 

Ron angrily groaned and scrawled a barely legible reply.  He didn’t go into detail.  He knew the Malfoys would discover the truth soon enough.  Ron had never been one to be concerned with the details anyway.  All he knew was that Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger needed to sort their issues.  He also knew they wouldn’t do it unless they were forced into it.  He wasn’t the one doing the actual forcing, he was just sort of giving it a bit of a push, and there was nothing wrong with that.  At least that’s what he told himself as he headed to the pub.

 

While Ron was channelling his inner prankster, Hermione was keeping her distance from an irate Draco Malfoy.  Theo had managed to corral him into the empty office near the lift.  She could hear the raised voices from within and hoped it didn't come to blows.  She closed her eyes, grit her teeth, and utilised her Gryffindor courage to push open the door.

 

“I don’t want to talk to her!  What good would that do?  What exactly would that accomplish?!  I can’t even formulate my thoughts to speak to  _ you _ , and you want me to just—I don’t even know what the fuck you want, you bastard,”  Draco’s temper was truly getting the best of him, and he was incapable of controlling the vast range of conflicting emotions coursing through him.

 

“You’ve got to do something, Malfoy.  This is thoroughly unhealthy,”  Theodore Nott highly considered hexing his mate, but it wasn’t the time to allow his temper to rise to the surface.

 

Draco stared passed Theo and swallowed hard.  He wasn’t used to being out of sorts, especially where a woman was concerned.  Hermione Granger was the unattainable.  It was one thing to steal a kiss when Harry Potter’s wife was on a rampage, or even in comfort during a life-threatening situation.  It was quite another to jaunt down the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley with her on his arm as he spat in the face of his legacy.

 

It wasn’t his mother that was the problem.  It was never his mother.  It was his father.  Even after all these years, nothing scared Draco more than the wrath of Lucius Malfoy.  It wasn’t the fear of being disowned.  It wasn’t even the memories of Voldemort that caused him to break into a sweat.  No, it was the sound of his father’s cane slapping against the marble just before it struck him.

 

“Theo?  Is he all right?  He doesn’t look well.”  Hermione didn’t waste a moment and strode through the office.

 

Theo shrugged.  He knew his response wouldn’t mean a thing, not really.  Hermione had always done exactly as she wished as far as Draco Malfoy was concerned and he never saw a need to interfere.  He watched the beads of sweat gather on Draco’s brow and back stepped toward the door.  He wasn’t needed any longer, and besides, he was aching to have a conversation with Ronald Weasley.

 

He didn’t have a problem with the angry ginger and while Draco had forged an unwilling sort of friendship with the youngest Weasley brother, Theo hadn’t.  Theo had witnessed much throughout the years, and he knew Ron had Slytherin tendencies just as much as anyone else.  Theo wasn’t the sort of wizard to let uncertainties lie.  He needed answers in order to feel whole, and Ron Weasley was the only wizard capable of providing them.

 

“Get out, Granger,”  Draco’s cheeks were reddened from the heat of his body and the tension in his limbs.  He dropped his head and stared at the lines of his fingers pressed into the dark wood of the desk.

 

“No.  I’m not going to just leave you like this.  You’re my partner.  Talk to me, Malfoy,”  Hermione crept closer and pulled his fingers from the desktop.  “You’re unwell.”

 

Draco’s shoulders sagged, but he allowed her to slip between his tense body and the desk.  His lips parted when her cold palms held his cheeks.  His eyelids fluttered shut when Hermione wiped the sweat from his brow.  He swallowed hard when he realised he could feel her body heat perilously close to him.

 

“I’m not unwell.  I’m fine, Granger.  I’m sure you’ve more pressing things to do than spend your time tending to someone that doesn’t need tending,”  Draco’s tone was scathingly biting, but Hermione had suffered much worse.

 

“You’re being stupid,”  Hermione frowned and her palms flattened against his chest.  “Look, I’m tired of playing this game with you Malfoy.  There’s obviously something wrong with you and if you don’t wish to speak to me about it, fine, but you’ve got to talk to someone.  I’m sure even Ron would be willing to listen—"  Hermione squeaked as hard, unyielding fingers dug into the meagre flesh of her hips.

 

“I don’t fucking want to speak to Weasley.  What is it you’d like me to say, Granger?  It seems Nott didn’t have an answer either.  Would you like to hear of my nightmares?  Would you like a detailed account of my thrashing in my sleep and waking hoarse?  How about my frustrating attraction to a woman I can’t fucking have, how about that?”  Draco Malfoy’s grey eyes were wide with realisation at his words, but he grit his teeth with determination.

 

“Wh—why wouldn’t you be able to have her?  That’s silly, isn’t it?  I mean the war is over.  You work for the Ministry.  You’re nothing like the spoilt wanker you were as a child,”  Hermione winced from the sensation of the hardwood digging into her arse.

 

“I don’t even enjoy admitting my attraction to myself, and I can’t imagine she’d be satisfied with that.  My father would have me fucking killed.  I’m still terrified of him, did I ever tell you that?  Despite the fact I’ve overcome much, my boggart is still my father, even after all this time.  I’m aware it’s pathetic, don’t look at me like that, Granger.  He’d never accept her, and I’m still a spoilt child seeking his father’s approval.  I’m fucking pathetic, but it doesn’t bother me anymore.  She’d never have me, and I wouldn’t expect her to,”  Draco stared at his fingers and slowly released Hermione’s hips.

 

“You are not your father.  You no longer have to live up to his debased expectations.  You’re actually a respectable member of society, and if the witch of your choosing wouldn’t accept you, the issue isn’t with you, it’s with her.  Unless of course, she was betrothed or married or something of the like, I mean—”  Hermione paused lamely and allowed her words to trail away into nothingness.

 

“I know I’m not my father, Granger,”  Draco dropped his head to her shoulder and inhaled deeply against her skin.  “I know he wouldn’t actually kill me, but he’d definitely think about it.”  The mirthless chuckle against her skin gave Hermione pause.

 

“I’m sure he wouldn’t be the first,”  Hermione’s voice lowered to little more than a whisper as she sensed the intimacy of their current positions.  “I should—I should probably be going.”

 

Draco shivered lightly as the sensation of her warm breath washed over him.  It was difficult for him to draw a proper breath as his nose dallied behind her ear.  He enjoyed the gooseflesh littering her skin from his hot breath, and he was incapable of resisting the urge to taste her throat.  His tongue flicked forward and he tasted the sunshine.

 

“Do you really  _ want _ to leave, Granger?”  His sultry voice caused her to tremble, but Hermione managed to shake her head.

 

“I should go.  This—this could be an after effect of the Hex and you're obviously not in your right mind."  Hermione's voice shook and still, she couldn't manage to extricate herself from his sinewy arms.

 

Hermione yelped in alarm when he set her on the desk and forced her thighs apart.  He wedged between her legs so easily she wondered how her skirt hadn’t torn.  It was a heady sensation to feel his tongue against her throat.  The mark on her neck tingled, which made other body parts she’d rather not discuss feel exceedingly hot.

 

“After effects my arse.  St. Mungo’s cleared us,”  Draco mumbled against the inviting sinew of pulsating skin.

 

Hermione whimpered with every sweeping pass of his tongue and he grew to crave the sound.  He wanted to sink his teeth into the exact same spot until it drew blood.  Strangely, he wanted to taste it against his tongue.  Instead, he settled for a palm beneath her blouse and a breast in his hand.

 

“Mal-Malfoy,”  Hermione stuttered.  “This isn’t you.  It’s the V-Veela blood in your—in your veins.”

 

Hermione clung to every ounce of logic embedded in her brain and sought to rein in the wizard currently manipulating her breasts.  She didn’t want him to stop.  It felt better than she thought it should and Hermione knew her knickers were soaked through.

 

“You’re right.  You should go.”  Draco panted with the exertion of keeping his hands from pushing her onto the desk and hastily dropped his hands.  “If you don’t, I’m apt to have you, right here, right now.”

 

Hermione gasped lightly as she sensed his inner turmoil.  She patiently waited for him to retreat, and relaxed when his hands shifted from her hips to her waist.  Of course, the tension immediately returned when Draco cupped her breasts with a stifled moan.

 

“Malfoy, stop. You don’t want me like that.  We’ll suss it out.”  Hermione pushed against him and was relieved when there wasn’t resistance.  She felt his eyes on her as she stumbled from the office, but she didn’t turn.

 

"You've no idea how much I wish you were right, Granger,"  Draco whispered to himself, as Hermione was gone.

 

The corridors and even the Hit Wizard offices were empty.  Hermione rushed to her desk to collect her belongings.  Her heart pounded furiously, while her thoughts were laced with more confusion than she could manage on her own.  She needed a stiff drink and a good friend, but both of those things were in short supply.

 

She sunk into her desk chair and resisted the urge to smash her head onto the mahogany.  She groaned and covered her head with her arms.  It was madness.  There had to be a logical explanation.  Hermione refused to believe simple magic tendencies were wreaking such havoc.  She and Draco had never had a sexual relationship or even alluded to such.  It was impossible for him to claim an attraction sourced from nothing other than the blood roaring through his veins.

 

Hermione stood abruptly and slapped her palms onto the haphazard stack of parchment laid across her desk.  A small white box bounced and drew her eye.  She was always a curious sort, therefore it was second nature to open the lid.

 

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me.”  Hermione deliberated hurling the box across the room, but she didn’t.  

 

Instead, she studied the contents with narrowed eyes.  It really was quite beautiful, which was what surprised her the most.  It wasn’t something Ron had chosen alone, that much was obvious.  

 

It was going to be difficult to return it, but she was absolutely not going to marry Ronald Weasley.  Hermione was undeniably convinced she had made such things completely clear.  They weren’t even dating!  It was absurd!  Then again, Ron had a tendency to embrace the absurd.

 

With a sigh, Hermione stroked the tasteful diamonds and felt the jolt of magic spark against her fingertips.  She plucked it from the box and sighed.  She knew she should place it back into the box and hurl it directly at Ron’s head, but that’s not what she did.  Hermione slipped the ring into her pocket and hurried from the Ministry lest she be discovered.

 


	9. 9

_ If you can’t get someone out of your head, maybe they’re supposed to be there.  -  Luna Lovegood _

* * *

 

 

The sun hung low in the sky.  It gently kissed the tops of the buildings and cast a glow across the scattered group of passersby.  It would have been a beautiful painting if he had been inclined to appreciate splendour.  The splashes of orange tinged with deep blue meant nothing to him.

 

The perfectly haphazardly aligned shops used to draw his eye.  The hints of colour in the window displays used to cause something akin to happiness, or at the very least vague intrigue, but no longer.  Those days were gone.  They were stolen from him much like a thief in the night and it was up to him to right such wrongs.

 

He stood eerily still and listened to the echoes of Diagon Alley.  He used to love the sights and sounds as witches and wizards alike bustled about, but no longer.  He used to love many things, but his heart had slowly been filled with fierce resentment that eventually led to abhorrence.

 

He detested their happiness.  He abhorred their smiles.  He hated the way they simply forgot and moved on with their lives.  Hate wasn’t nearly strong enough to describe the teeth gnashing level of intensity that blurred his vision and caused his bones to ache.  

 

He had promised.  He had solemnly sworn, but what did it matter when such promises were made to a Muggle?  It wasn’t as if he had made a Wand Oath or an Unbreakable Vow.  He had simply stood before a man he barely remembered and promised.

 

It was easy to traverse through the waning crowd.  He nodded dutifully as was expected of him.  He smiled and even offered a half-hearted wave to his peers.  He avoided the shops and patiently waited for the cover of night.

 

When the darkness settled over the cobblestone and the moon shone high in the sky that was his favourite time of day.  He would close his eyes and allow the tensions to seep from his shoulders.  There was something about the pitch black that soothed his rages.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

He hissed angrily and cursed himself for being spotted this close to Knockturn Alley.  While it wasn’t quite the nefarious place it had been prior to the end of the War, it was still questionable at best.  He had become distracted by the calm that overtook him, which was a mistake.

 

“What’s it to you, Weasley?”  He sneered.

 

He’d never been fond of the easily riled ginger and had never seen a point in pretending otherwise.  He was fairly certain the sentiments were returned, not that it bothered him.  He didn’t want to be cordial to the likes of Ronald Weasley or his counterparts for that matter.

 

“Still a tosser,”  Ron growled.

 

“Perhaps.  It seems wealth hasn’t done much to alter your surly disposition, has it?”  He smirked nastily and enjoyed the red flush that decorated the half-wit’s cheeks.  “How is your sister these days?”

 

“Don’t you speak of her!”  Ron shouted as he drew the attention of a few passing witches and quickly wiped a clammy palm down his face.

 

“Temper, temper.”

 

He waggled his fingers and winked at the furious Ron Weasley.  He scoffed upon spying Harry Potter’s approach and gently drifted into the shadows.  He wasn’t of a mind to suffer the presence of the Golden Boys.  Rather than wait for a sound scolding, he slipped down the steps and marched directly toward 13B.

 

“Leave him be, Ron.”

 

"Why is he hanging around Knockturn Alley, Harry.  Why don't you ask him that?"  Ron puffed out his chest importantly, but there was no one to give him his glory.

 

“There’s been a report Dre Head is missing.  I suppose he’s been assigned to the case.  Does it matter?  You’ve got to shove off.  Your mum owled me specifically to remind you to go to the Burrow,”  Harry peered into the darkened alley, but he couldn’t see much of anything.

 

“Yeah alright, but I still don’t like him.  Are you coming?”  Ron looked at Harry questioningly.

 

“No, no I’m not.  Molly mentioned something about your sister and I’d rather not be there for that.  I’m sure you understand,”  Harry shrugged and avoided Ron’s narrowed blue eyes.

 

Harry waited until Ron Disapparated before he turned toward the tiny hidden shop near the corner.  It was fairly nondescript, which suited him just fine.  The magical streetlamps flickered and Harry yanked on the collar of his robes in order to conceal his identity from prying eyes.

 

He inhaled deeply, held his breath, and pushed open the door.  The jangle of metal on metal hurt his ears as the strange knot of unidentifiable objects rapped against the glass.  Harry quickly grappled with the items and squeezed his eyes shut.

 

It took him a moment in his nervousness, but finally, the horrible screech like clang ebbed into nothing more a gentle sway.  Harry cautiously released his breath and stared at the twisted bits of sparkling metal with a keen eye.  He'd never seen anything like it, but as far as Luna Lovegood was concerned, Harry also knew he should have expected the uniqueness that seemed to accompany her existence.

 

“…not to mention the fact he keeps kissing me!”  The familiar voice rang through the cramped shop.

 

Harry slid along the wall and swallowed hard.  He bumped into a small display and a handful of vibrating wands bounced off his cheek.  He bent to retrieve them and shuddered at the vibrant colours while he hoped Hermione hadn’t seen him enter.

 

“You’re so tense, Hermione.  You have to admit Draco’s been quite lovely to you since the Muggle fire.  You keep protesting his advances, but you haven’t said a word about that ring.”

 

Harry squatted low beside a nearby bookshelf and covered his mouth with both hands.  He couldn't concentrate on Luna's soothing voice when he was face to face with fur-lined handcuffs and some sort of paddle.  His elbow knocked into strange little bottles filled with liquid and he groaned.

 

“I don’t want to like him,”  Hermione muttered.

 

“I think it’s too late for that.  Off you go, I’ve a nervous customer hiding by the lubrication and you’ve got Unspeakables to harass.”

 

Harry pulled up the collar of his trench and covered his face when Hermione strode passed.  She hadn’t given him a second look, but it didn’t help to quench his nervousness.  He knew he shouldn’t have come, but Lavender had asked him to give the shop a look and pick up something to bring life back into their bedroom.  Harry didn’t particularly want to bring life back into his bedroom, but he did as she asked.

 

“Lubrication?”  Harry finally commented.

 

“Oh yes, there’s all sorts.  There’s warming, cooling, edible, and that’s just for vaginal play.  The anal lubrication is—“

 

“Luna!”

 

Harry rubbed his scar from habit more than pain or irritation and shook his head.  It wasn’t necessarily easy to manoeuvre toward the glass showcase, but he managed.  His eyes twitched toward the curious and strange items, but Harry was definitely not going to ask about them.

 

“Would you like to see the anal beads?”  Luna asked innocently.

 

“N-no, I just no, thank you,”  Harry stammered.  “Lavender suggested—“

 

“I see,”  Luna sighed, “on the back wall are some blindfolds and silk cords.  She’d probably like that sort of thing.  She’s not very adventurous for a Gryffindor.”

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably.  He wasn’t quite sure if he should tell the willowy blonde he came to see her rather than wares.  He cleared his throat noisily and covered her hand with his.

 

“What do you like?”  

 

Luna’s cornflower blue eyes sparkled with mischief.  Her dainty fingers walked across the glass and Harry watched them, completely enraptured.  He held his breath as they continued their spider walk up his chest and suddenly, his tie was in her fist.  Luna pulled with more strength than Harry thought she had and smashed her lips against his.

 

“I quite like you, Harry Potter.”

 

Harry definitely wasn’t complaining when Luna slowly walked around the glass case and sunk to her knees.  He held his breath and gulped noisily, his eyes wide with apprehension laced with excitement.  Her fingers fumbled with his belt, but then the sweet sound of his zipper falling made his breath expel harshly.

 

“L-Luna, I didn’t come here f-for  _ that _ ,”  Harry whimpered.

 

Luna being Luna ignored him and grasped his semi-erect cock with sure fingers.  She tugged down his denims with her free hand and lightly stroked his bare arse.  She hummed softly and pressed her lips to the barely concealed tip just to hear Harry gasp.

 

She toyed with the excess skin until his cock hardened and it was taut.  It was a simple matter to engulf Harry’s cock in her warm mouth with a firm fist at the base.  Luna blinked up at Harry through light blonde lashes and memorised the ecstasy etched into his face.

 

Harry’s hips gently rocked, completely in tune with Luna’s vigorous pumps.  The moan caught in his throat, especially as he felt her fingers near the cusp of his arse.  It made him more than a bit nervous, but it was difficult to focus on that feeling when he was feeling so much more elsewhere.

 

Luna surreptitiously removed a small clear bottle from her plaid skirt pocket.  She knew Harry wouldn’t notice what she was doing with it as long as she kept him preoccupied.  He was quite predictable in his gasps and moans and she appreciated it.  It was much easier to complete the task when she knew what her partner liked.

 

She laughed, which wasn’t nearly as difficult as one would think with a cock in her mouth.  Luna watched Harry throw his head back and felt his thighs quake against her.  She eased her fingers between his arse cheeks and ever so gently teased Harry’s arsehole.

 

“L-Luna!”  Harry squeaked and clamped his arse cheeks together with eyes widened in alarm.

 

“Relax, Harry.  Don’t you trust me?”  

 

Luna continued to stroke his cock with her sure fist until Harry nodded.  She licked the tip and swirled her tongue around the head before she nearly swallowed it whole.  While Luna distracted him with her deep throating abilities, her pinkie found its mark.

 

“I’m not sure—oh that’s not—entirely unpleasant,”  Harry sighed.  “Holy shit.”

 

Harry’s knees buckled and his limbs trembled.  His orgasm didn’t usually hit him quite that hard, but there was something about watching Luna Lovegood’s cheeks suck in as she manipulated his wilting cock.  It almost made him feel powerful until his conscience reared its irritating head.

 

“Stop it, Harry,”  Luna gently dabbed her lips with the hem of her skirt and shook her head.  “I know what you’re doing.  My father says that most men do what you’ve done and their wives are thankful for it.  I also believe Daddy is a bit of a liar, but I’d rather not think about that now.  I’d much rather take off my clothes in the back room and wait for your refractory period to end unless you’re not up for it?”

 

* * *

 

While Harry Potter was hastily disrobing for Luna Lovegood, Hermione Granger wandered Diagon Alley.  She considered stopping in Flourish and Blott’s, but there was something that kept her from the shop.  It didn’t hold the same pleasure it once had and she didn’t have a solid reason as to why.  Hermione discovered it was true with most things these days and it disturbed her greatly.

 

“Hermione, lovely to see you,”  The tall, skinny blond said with a smile.

 

“Oh, hello,”  Hermione replied.

 

Her smile didn’t reach her chocolate brown eyes and she worried her distaste was obvious.  She did so hate to be rude, but she couldn’t say she particularly liked the man.  It didn’t matter how many years had passed since their school days.  

 

“I’ve heard some rumours and I was wondering if you might clear something up for me?”  He asked congenially while his dark eyes roved over her form appreciatively.

 

“I-I suppose I could try.”

 

Hermione didn’t like the way he leered at her, but she refused to make a scene.  She’d never been fond of him, but she had attempted to embrace the art of diplomacy.  As a Ministry worker, it was imperative to forge connections and wallow through the politics in order to solve her cases.

 

"Tell me, did Malfoy really mark you?"  He leant close and revelled in her discomfort.

 

“I’d rather not discuss it.  I’m sure you understand,”  Hermione shifted her weight between her feet and desperately browsed the passersby for an escape.

 

“Oh come on now, Hermione.  It’s all the talk of the Ministry and even you must admit that Malfoy’s been particularly prickly, especially where you’re concerned.  I’d hate to upset him further by,”  He paused for dramatic effect, “touching you.”  He caressed her bare forearm and invaded her personal space quite a lot.

 

“You shouldn’t do that,”  Hermione snapped and wrenched her arm away from the blond.  “Yes, alright?  It’s such a small thing really.  It hasn’t been completed mind you, at least that’s what I’ve been told.”  She bit her lip and blushed lightly.  She hadn’t meant to tell him quite so much, but he had angered her.

 

“Would you show it to me?  Unless, of course, it’s in some delectably embarrassing location?”

 

The shine in his dark eyes made her curious more than frightening her.  He was clearly obsessed with the notion of her mark and in her haste to escape him, Hermione nodded and gestured toward a darkened passageway behind her.  Her arrogance didn’t allow her to consider him a threat, but she was wrong to underestimate him.

 

“I’d rather not bare it in the midst of Diagon Alley.  I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to show it to you.  It’s really nothing nefarious, I don’t understand your interest in it.  Has this something to do with—“

 

Hermione’s words were cut off with a quick Silencio.  She was shoved into the damp brick and his hot breath was expelled against her throat.  She struggled but he was surprisingly fast.  With a few waves of his wand, her hands were pinned above her head and her wand was safely tucked into his trousers.

 

“Always too trusting, Ms Granger,”  he hissed.  “I can’t hear you.  There’s no use telling me I can’t do this and I don’t want to do this and all that other rot.  I’m not going to fuck you, but a taste definitely isn’t off the table.”

 

His fingers dug into her chin and he forced Hermione’s head to the side.  His fingertip brushed the silvery mark lightly, but not enough to cause her discomfort.  He’d read about Veela markings extensively.  He knew if he wasn’t careful, the Malfoy brat would swoop to her rescue, and he couldn’t have that, not yet.

 

“Your breasts are lovely even when they are confined.  I wonder if they’ll taste as good as they look.”

 

Hermione’s blouse spread easily beneath his hands and she glowered at him as he stared.  She’d always known he was an arrogant cowardly sort of wizard, but she had never expected him to be the sort of man to go to such lengths.  Her fear precluded her ability to utilise nonverbal magic and it was with a sinking heart Hermione realised she was utterly helpless.

 

The hot tears pricked the corner of her eyes as he removed her brassiere, but she comforted herself with the fact he hadn't touched her.  She closed her eyes against the assault even as his fingers dug into her hips.  She pretended she couldn’t feel her skirt being yanked over her thighs and the hands that teased the sides of her knickers.

 

“I think I’ll take these with me,”  he laughed and slowly dragged the silk down her trembling thighs.

 

He bent and caressed her knee as he removed them.  He imagined her sharp gasp of indignation, especially when he shoved the fabric into his pocket.  He stared at her exposed flesh hungrily, but he wasn’t particularly fond of the way she ignored him.  He knew he’d have to rectify that immediately.

 

“Look at me or I’ll fuck you right here for all to see,”  he threatened.

 

His smile was completely out of place when her eyes flew open.  He revelled in her fear.  It made him feel powerful and he did like to feel powerful.  He had promised his partner he wouldn't rough her up too much, but the allure of Hermione Granger powerless beneath him was nearly too much to ignore.

 

He liked the way she stiffened and attempted to escape.  The tears dripping on her cheeks were a delightful accompaniment to his tongue lapping at her throat.  While she stared at him in horror, he dipped his head and latched onto an enticing dusky peak.  He sucked hard, knowing that it hurt her.

 

“I’d love to make you come,”  he whispered between her breasts.  “I’d love to live with the knowledge that I made Hermione Granger come like a whore. I’ve fucked all the pretty ones,”  he crooned.  “I’ve made them all come.  They don’t remember, but that was part of my plan as well.  My brother is surprisingly adept when it comes to hypnosis, but I’ve perfected his skill with spells.”

 

Hermione’s silent screams only increased his pleasure.  He wanted to defy his partner’s wishes and shove his throbbing cock into her slick heat, but he didn’t.  She was a virgin, but not just that.  It hadn’t stopped him any other time.  She had been Marked and defiling her would be signing his death warrant.

 

"The Weasley girl begged me to stop.  Her sobs turned into moans when I fucked her.  If you lot had been paying attention you might have noticed the changes in her when you returned from your little mission,"  he paused to twist her nipple painfully.  "You look surprised.  The prefect's bathroom was the perfect place to catch her unawares.  She was a virgin and was quite proud of the fact she was saving herself for Harry fucking Potter.  Incompetent ponce that he is wouldn't know how to please a woman if he was given hands-on instruction.  We all know it was you that saved us from V-Voldemort."

 

He laughed darkly the moment he felt Hermione shudder against his erection.  It was a heady sensation, despite knowing it stemmed from revulsion.  He moaned against her throat and continued his gentle thrusts, his cock between her thighs, teasing, never penetrating, until she sagged against the brick in silent humiliation.

 

“Pansy screamed the loudest,”  he confessed with his head against her heart.  “Daphne was the most compliant.  Lavender was the most frightened, which only made it that much more exciting.  Astoria was the youngest and a disappointment, really.  Ginny, that fucking bitch, came the most.  She was starved for it.  I had her more than once,”  he laughed.  “In fact, I even had her after she snagged Potter, which made it that much better.  I heard she’s come back.  I might just have to pay her a visit.”

 

While he tidied up and buttoned her blouse, Hermione chanted the names over and over.  She knew he’d alter her memory, but she fervently hoped she’d remember something.  He couldn’t get away with this.

 

“I’ll wank to your tits tonight, Hermione,”  He licked her mark on her neck and shoved his wand in her face.  “ _ Dedisco _ ,”  he whispered.

 

Hermione fell to the ground in a heap.  She clutched her throat and blindly searched for her wand.  She had heard it clatter and knew it had to be there.  The hysteria built and when she finally grasped her wand in unsteady fingers, the traumatised scream ripped through her throat.

 

She yanked her skirt over her knees and analyzed the heavy feeling in her head.  The questions that raced through her brain were left unanswered.  She was incapable of sending a Patronus and therefore, she simply screamed until she was hoarse.

 

“Pansy.  Daphne.  Lavender.  Astoria.  Ginny.”

 

She repeated the litany even after a concerned group of witches and wizards surrounded her.  Hermione could hear their murmurs and whispers, but she knew if she stopped repeating the names she would forget.  She slumped against the brick and hissed as the cold seeped through her blouse.

 

“Call the Aurors!”  Someone shouted.

 

“What’s she saying?”  Another voice questioned.

 

“Write it down,”  the inherently soothing voice of Luna Lovegood wafted above the crowd and Hermione’s shoulders sagged with relief.  “I’ve got you.”

 

Harry Potter pushed through the crowd and reached for Hermione but she shrunk away from him.  She huddled into Luna’s side and twisted one of Luna’s blonde strands around her finger.  She didn’t want Harry or even Ron.  She wanted Draco Malfoy, but for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why.

 

“St Mungo’s—“  Harry began.

 

“No, not there,”  Hermione pleaded.  “I’m alright, just a bit shaken up.  The Ministry.  I need to go to the Ministry.”

 

Harry nodded curtly, though it was obvious he was displeased.  He believed she should be taken directly to St Mungo’s and afterwards to the Burrow.  Molly would look after Hermione as if she was her own child and that always made everything better.  It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact Ginny was there.  Absolutely nothing.

 

Luna managed to help Hermione to her feet and guided her to the nearby Flourish and Blott's.  After a few coaxing words, the matronly witch allowed them use of the Floo.  It was a harrowing experience for Hermione to traverse the Floo Network and she hugged herself in relief the moment she stumbled into the Ministry.

 

“I’ve sent for the Investigators and I thought you might like Ron here as well—“

 

“No,”  Hermione interrupted Harry’s diplomacy with a quick shake of her mussed curls.  “Malfoy, get me Malfoy.”

 

Harry’s lip curled with distaste, but he didn’t wish to argue with her, not now.  It was obvious she was feeling incredibly vulnerable and out of sorts.  Why she’d request bloody Malfoy when her best mates were prepared to care for her was a question he refused to pose.

 

Luna carefully prodded Harry’s hip and her blue eyes flicked to his zip.  It amused her to see Harry blush and tug the zipper into its proper place.  They rode the lift in relative silence, though the chatter of Hermione’s teeth could be heard.

 

“Potter, we were just on our way—“  Theodore Nott paused and squinted at the witch wedged into Luna’s side.  “Granger?  What on earth?”

 

“Conference room,”  Hermione replied quietly.

 

Harry led the charge and his demeanour brooked no interference.  The moment Hermione was seated, Harry stood guard at the door.  Theo yanked a small notepad from the pocket of his drab blazer and placed a quill beside it.  He was equipped with more than a little patience as far as traumatic witnesses were concerned and knew it was best to wait for them to speak without being prod.

 

“I’m assuming Weasley and Malfoy are on their way?”  Theo gruffly addressed Harry.

 

“Haven’t sent for Malfoy—“

 

“He’s her partner.  It is Ministry protocol for partners to be called to attendance in the event of an emergency.  I believe this qualifies, Potter.”

 

Harry scowled but dutifully sent his Patronus.  His eyes narrowed as the stag took flight and he wished he could understand the bond between Hermione and Malfoy.  It had taken him longer than it should have to realise his feelings toward Hermione were not romantic in nature, but the protectiveness he felt toward her hadn't waned.

 

“Mione!”  Ron Weasley bounded into the conference room with a dopey smile that quickly fell.  “Luna?  Nott?  W-what’s going on?  Hermione, are you alright?”

 

Hermione merely blinked and kept her lips firmly clamped together.  She repeated the names and pieced together vague descriptions in order to keep herself calm.  She hadn’t the time nor the inclination to soothe Ronald Weasley while keeping herself in one piece.

 

"Pansy was the loudest,"  Hermione's low timbre voice filled the conference room as though she had shouted.  "Daphne was the most compliant.  Lavender was frightened.  Astoria was disappointing.  Ginny—"  Hermione's voice shook and she paused.

 

“Hermione?  W-what are you going on about?”  Ron flopped into the chair across from her and reached for Hermione’s hands.

 

“Take your time,”  Theo interjected and shot Ron an angry glare laced with warning.

 

“Ginny came the most,”  Hermione finally said.

 

“Weasley, I think it would be best—“

 

“No, I’m not leaving.  I don’t understand.  My sister did what?  Lavender?  What the fuck is going on?”  Ron stood angrily and pounded his fist on the table, which only set Hermione to shaking.

 

“Out!”  Theo grasped Ron by the scruff of his neck and shoved him into the corridor.  “Potter, keep Weasley out of there.  Bind him if you must.  This is a sensitive issue and as such will be handled by the Investigators until such time as Auror involvement is deemed necessary.  I’m aware that she is your friend, but in this moment, she is a victim.  I will not compromise this case or her mental acuity for the sake of friendship.”

 

Harry’s lips parted to argue, yet he knew he hadn’t the right.  As much as he wanted to be present, it would have interfered with Nott’s job.  It would also make things that much more difficult for Hermione and Harry refused to take part in that.

 

“What would you like us to do?”  Harry asked instead.

 

“The women she listed.  I’d like you to retrieve them and escort them to the Victim’s Chambers.  If possible, keep them separated and record any signs of distress.  I’ll send Smith to interview them.”

 

“Smith,”  Ron scoffed.  “He’s such a wanker.”

 

“Perhaps, but he’s adept at his job.  Let him do it.  If anything comes from this and there’s a suspect, I’ll be sure to contact the Aurors posthaste,”  Theo sighed heavily.  “Oi, Malfoy, in here please.”

 

The moment Draco Malfoy burst through the conference room door, Luna Lovegood stood.  She gently patted Hermione’s shoulder and kissed her cheek.  She had an intuitive nature and knew that her presence was no longer necessary.  The door clicked shut behind her and she felt the hum of magic as it was warded against interruptions.

 

Theo resumed his seat at the head of the table and simply observed.  He had taken interest in Hermione’s lips.  Their barely perceptible movement had captured his eye and it was then he realised she was simply repeating her statement over and over.

 

“Nott,”  Draco inclined his head slowly.

 

He inhaled deeply and the rumble of a growl quickly filled the silence.  He could taste the evidence of her arousal on his tongue, but it was laced with something else.  He could smell someone else and his fingernails dug into his palms.

 

“Malfoy, we’ve got a situation,”  Theo decided to take the helm before his mate’s temper reared its terrifying head.

 

“Granger?”  Draco questioned through clenched teeth, his darkened grey eyes never leaving her.

 

“Pansy was loud..  Daphne was easy.  Lavender was scared.  Astoria was bad.  Ginny was a whore,”  Hermione chanted and rocked slowly in the creaky Ministry chair.

 

“I believe she was assaulted,”  Theo offered.  “She hasn’t said more than a handful of words beyond those few sentences.  The women in question are being retrieved.  Smith is slated to interview them.”

 

Draco nodded and rounded the conference table with decisive steps.  He was hesitant to approach her, but something needed to be done.  His hand hovered over her shoulder and he looked to Theo for guidance.  Of course, he received nothing in return other than an exaggerated shrug.  He finally squatted beside her and covered her trembling hand with his own.

 

“Pansy, Daphne, Lavender, Astoria, Ginny, is that right?”  Draco whispered.

 

He was unprepared for the whirlwind of brown curls or the force of her body as it crashed into his.  Her arms locked around his throat and Draco landed on his bum in his efforts to catch her.  He’d never seen her in such a state.

 

“What the fuck did he do to her?”  Draco growled.  “I can smell him on her, cloyingly sweet with traces of Floo Powder.”

 

“Don’t kill me, but I used Legilimency on her.  Her memory’s been altered.  How she remembered a list of names is beyond my capabilities,”  Theo sighed and returned to his notepad.

 

Hermione clawed at the back of Draco’s neck, desperate to be closer.  She could feel his heart pound against her chest and it wasn’t nearly close enough.  She shifted her hips and dropped her knees to the floor, effectively pinning Draco beneath her.

 

“Granger,”  Draco sputtered.

 

His arms came around her and he bit his lip to keep the groan at bay.  Her soft breasts flattened against him and he struggled to maintain his composure.  With incredible difficulty, Draco got to his feet with Hermione still wrapped around him.

 

“Malfoy, you best sit,”  Theo hastily pushed a chair in his mate’s direction and felt much better once Malfoy was seated.

 

“Get him off me,”  Hermione whimpered.  Draco immediately released her only for her to keen in distress.  “I can’t get him off me.  I can’t remember.  I can smell him.  I can feel his fingers t-touching me.  Get him off me!”

 

Theo’s quill scratched across his notepad as he attempted to record her every word.  He didn’t raise his head when Draco drew his wand, nor when the Scourgify was cast.  Theo supposed that wasn’t what Granger had meant, but it would have to do.

 

He was completely uncomfortable with the situation.  This was Hermione Granger.  If she was vulnerable to attack, no one was safe.  The sound of sobs dragged him from his reverie and he squirmed in his chair.  Theo decided it was probably best to vacate the conference room.

 

“I’ve got you.  I’ve got you,” was the only sound that floated to his ears as the door swung closed behind him.

  
  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedisco = forget


	10. 10

_So, when you describe me to people, do you use amazing or fucking incredible? – Blaise Zabini_

* * *

 

Zacharias Smith pinched the bridge of his nose and vowed not to shout. His ears still throbbed from the dramatic shrieks of Pansy Parkinson. He hoped Daphne Greengrass was a soft-spoken woman. He did not enjoy this portion of the job, but it came with the territory as far as being an Investigator was concerned.

 

“Ms Greengrass, please have a seat. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

 

Zacharias observed the chestnut brunette adjust her dark red robes and crinkle her nose at the metal chair. She primly sat on the edge and folded her hands on the metal table. Her light blue eyes never wavered and he had to respect her regal stature.

 

“I highly doubt we’d be meeting under any circumstances if I had a say in it. How may I be of aid?” Daphne’s sooty lashes blinked with purpose and her red lips pursed slightly in displeasure.

 

“It has come to our attention via Ms Granger—“

 

“Hermione? How is she? What’s happened?”

 

Zacharias wasn’t expecting such a passionate response from the seemingly cool Pureblood witch. He wasn’t quite sure how much he should divulge. He stalled by shuffling the small stack of parchment to his left until Daphne swept the pages to the floor with quite the flourish.

 

“I’m really not at liberty to say,” said Zacharias.

 

The solid door behind him squeaked open and Zacharias wrenched his neck to see who had interrupted his interrogation. He relaxed upon seeing his fellow Investigator Theo Nott and returned his attention to Daphne. His teeth snapped together in irritation when he saw the light in her eyes.

 

“Theo, it’s been ages,” Daphne gushed. “How is Hermione? Smith here wouldn’t utter a bloody word about her.”

 

Theo groaned as he lowered his exhausted body into the chair beside Zacharias and scratched his head. His dark eyes were broody and his dark blond hair was mussed. He had ink stains on his fingers and even Zacharias flinched away from the sound of Theo’s knuckles grazing the stubble on his chin.

 

“She’s shaken, obviously. I really can’t give you details, but she’s with Malfoy. It was pointless to attempt to ask her anything else,” Theo offered Daphne a small smile and glanced at Smith’s notes.

 

“I’ve missed her,” Daphne sighed.

 

“How’s your sister these days?” Theo ignored her attempt to delve into Hermione further and deftly changed the subject.

 

“Dramatic as ever. She’s convinced Draco is going to marry her, which is ridiculous. She’s got Daddy wrapped firmly around her finger and Merlin knows Mother would never speak against him. Why am I here, Theo?” Daphne arched her eyebrows and pointedly ignored Zacharias.

 

“We were provided with a list of names. We have reason to believe the women listed have been assaulted at one time or another and we’ve opened an investigation.”

 

Theo and Zacharias watched Daphne’s face close. Her lips smoothed into a perfect line. Her eyes narrowed and her fingers threaded together. They knew she would not be forthcoming.

 

“Smith, retrieve Astoria,” Theo ordered.

 

Daphne closed her blue eyes and her brow crinkled, which was the only sign of distress. Zacharias noted the burgundy undertones to Daphne’s hair as he escorted Astoria into the room. They were as different as night and day. It would have been uncouth to comment on it, yet he was fairly certain it had been whispered about frequently in the Pureblood circles.

 

“Did you tell Draco that I’m here? I told you he’d want to see me immediately!” Astoria stamped her foot angrily and threw herself into the chair beside her sister.

 

“He’s got more important things to worry about than you, Stori,” Daphne hissed with venom.

 

“Daddy’s fairly certain he can procure a higher bride price from the Malfoys considering my innocence. The same couldn’t be said for you. No wonder they’re considering the Flint application,” Astoria sniffed with disdain and more than a little superiority.

 

“Listen you little half-blood,” Daphne growled.

 

“Ladies!” Theo interrupted. “Alright, perhaps this wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had.”

 

Zacharias returned to his seat and snickered lightly. He had always found the bickering of women entertaining. It wasn’t particularly professional of him to laugh at them, but nothing about the situation made sense anyway. They were questioning women with memory loss as to an assault they didn’t remember had happened, if it had happened. It was ridiculous in his opinion, but he was absolutely dutiful in his profession and did as he was bid.

 

“Half-blood?” Zacharias questioned with a sneer painted on his lips.

 

“Leave it be, Smith,” Theo rubbed his forehead and groaned. “Alright look ladies, your names were given for a bloody reason. Astoria, you’ve really got to stop spinning that yarn about your innocence. Everyone knows better. Daphne, I’ve known you my entire life. I know when you know something and you fucking know something.”

 

The Greengrass sisters quickly clasped hands. They were not close. They never had been. There had always been a rift between them. Their father had encouraged it, said it built character or some such nonsense. However, there were moments, rare moments when they were as close as two people could possibly be.

 

“A handful of us returned to Hogwarts to repeat our last year,” Daphne began. “My parents were against it. My mother said I didn’t require an education, only a wealthy husband. Sometimes I wonder if I should have listened to them. I have all these N.E.W.T.s. I earned them, but what did it get me?” Daphne averted her face and Astoria patted her sister’s hand.

 

“It was my sixth year,” Astoria continued. “I wasn’t the same then as now. I was nice to everyone, really I was. It was a few days before the Christmas Holidays. There was a fantastic party and I danced most of the night away. Everything gets sort of fuzzy after that, but I know there was a wizard. H-He offered to walk me back to the Slytherin dormitories and of course, I let him. I hadn’t been with anyone before, hadn’t even had a kiss. I don’t remember everything, but I remember that it hurt. I remember a harsh voice telling me what a disappointment I was and then there’s nothing,” Astoria allowed the tears to fall from her cheeks with her head held high.

 

“She was a mess when I found her,” Daphne sniffed. “She was babbling incoherently, but one thing was certain. Someone had done something to her, but what could we do about it? We had no proof. Hell, we couldn’t even remember his face. It happened to me. It happened to Pansy. The Brown girl as well and that Weasley girl were victims as well. I think the Weasley girl had it the worst. He kept coming for her. Last I heard of her she was up the duff, ended things with Potter and left the British Wizarding World,” Daphne tucked her sister into her side and stroked the younger girl’s hair.

 

“Stori, is that why—“

 

“Why I turned into a slag? That’s what you’re asking, isn’t it?” Astoria snapped. “What did it matter after that, Nott? There was nothing left to save anyway.”

 

Theo and Zacharias exchanged a glance and sighed. What could they honestly offer these girls? They weren’t prepared for comfort, nor were they trained for such things. Their job was to collect solid information and they’d done that.

 

“Nott,” a muffled voice called through the door.

 

“Thank fuck,” Smith muttered and at least had the decency to blush when the Greengrass sisters snorted at his faux pas.

 

“Malfoy? Why is Granger still—“

 

“I can’t get her the fuck off. I don’t know what to do,” Draco desperately burst into the interrogation room and promptly sat down. “I’m fairly certain she’s sleeping, but the moment I try to pry her arms from around my neck, the sound she makes is downright ungodly. She’s pushing my limits, Nott.”

 

Theo wordlessly sent Zacharias from the room. He knew the Investigator was disappointed, but he didn’t need to be involved in such a private matter. He knew Daphne and Hermione had forged some strange sort of friendship, but he’d never asked for the particulars He also knew getting Astoria to leave would be damned near impossible.

 

“You can’t, Malfoy. If you break the skin—“ Theo paused of his own volition and shook his head quickly.

 

“Fuck, I know I can’t. It’s quite the conundrum. I want to do it, but I don’t want to do it. If I do it, it’ll be an immense relief for half a minute before the compulsion has me shagging her into oblivion,” Draco snarled and casually dropped his hands to the curve of Hermione’s bum.

 

“Why is he touching her like that? Why is she wrapped around him? Why—“

 

“Astoria, shut the fuck up,” Daphne spat. “Theo, if she opens her mouth again, Silence her. They took our wands on arrival otherwise I’d do it myself.”

 

Theo opened the heavy door and peeked into the corridor. He nearly smiled when he spotted Smith and Weasley nearby. They would be perfect for keeping the prissy little Greengrass occupied. He whistled loudly and nearly preened in pride when they trotted to him.

 

“Oi, take Little Greengrass to the lunch room or fucking something. Get her out of here. Keep her occupied.”

 

Ron’s lips parted as he gaped, completely aghast. He’d only met the younger Greengrass witch once and it was more than enough. She was nice to look at and all, but then she opened her mouth and ruined everything.

 

“W-what do you want _us_ to do with her?” Ron stammered nervously.

 

“I’d like to throw her in a room with Pansy and see who comes out standing,” Zacharias guffawed.

 

“That’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Ron shrugged.

 

Theo thumped his forehead with the flat of his palm and nearly wrote his resignation. Instead, he dragged Astoria from her chair and pushed her toward the wizards standing in the corridor. He had half a mind to simply slam the door but decided that wasn’t the best approach.

 

“I’d like to say I don’t care what you do, but I’m fond of my job. Feed her. Give her tea. Listen to her talk about the latest fashion trends. I honestly don’t care, but do not put her in the same room as Pansy,” Theo snarled and slammed the door with a groan of discontent.

 

“They’re going to do it anyway,” Draco quipped.

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

Narcissa Malfoy hummed merrily while she strode down the cobblestone of Diagon Alley. It really was a beautiful day and the fact she had her husband on her arm only made it that much better. She knew Lucius detested shopping almost as much as he hated an empty glass, but his love for her always won out in the end.

 

“Look! Madam Malkin’s has the latest robes. I think I’ll just pop in for a moment,” Narcissa pulled her husband toward the shop and he wished he were dead.

 

“Cissa, we’ve been at this for hours. Haven’t you shopped enough for today? Perhaps you should take the young Greengrass—“

 

“Do not speak to me of her, Lucius. She’s horrid. Did you read the latest owl from Johnathan Greengrass? He has the audacity to claim his daughter is innocent and as such the bride price should be significantly higher,” Narcissa tittered only to conceal her derision.

 

“If that girl is innocent, I’m a house elf,” Lucius mumbled. “She attempted to seduce me. I was drunk at the time—“

 

“No surprise there,” Narcissa interceded.

 

“She shouted at me about my flaccid bits. Terribly inappropriate if you ask me.”

 

Despite the glower on her husband’s face, Narcissa broke into peals of laughter. A handful of matronly witches looked on disapprovingly, but she no longer cared as to their thoughts on her actions. She rested her head on her husband’s shoulder and shook her head.

 

“I was there, Lucius. Rather, I walked in on the poor girl trying to bribe you to life. It’s too late for her and she doesn’t even realise it.”

 

“I still refuse to believe he demonstrated for a Muggleborn. He barely tolerates the girl. We’ve had to listen to his laments for his entire life as far as she’s concerned. Can you imagine a lifetime of such nonsense? I’ll be forced to jinx myself deaf,” Lucius groaned.

 

“Your son is nearly as delusional as you are. It’s a delicate mark as of yet. He’s quite convinced he still has a choice in the matter, but once he breaks her skin, it’s all over. It would be best if you accept it sooner rather than later,” Narcissa waved congenially to Madam Malkin and ignored the way her husband refused to take another step forward.

 

“Bushy-haired, half-blood, know-it-alls, is not what our legacy should have been,” Lucius yanked open the door for his wife and remained still. “I’m going to have a wander, enjoy yourself.”

 

Lucius dutifully kissed his wife’s cheek and spun on his heel before she could object. He hadn’t a plan in mind other than spending copious amounts of time with his flask. It was imperative that he not be seen and therefore it was easy for him to meander toward Knockturn Alley.

 

It was different since the end of the War, but it still held a bit of darkness. He found it comforting in a strange way and sighed in relief with every step. He knew better than to purchase anything, but he did so love to browse.

 

“Lucius!”

 

He yanked his collar up and ducked into the nearest shop. He loved his wife, adored her even, but if he had to sit idly by while she tried on robes in every colour of the rainbow, someone would end up dead. He’d prefer if it wasn’t him, but he wasn’t fond of the idea of ending his wife either. It was best for both of them if he simply disappeared for a little while.

 

“Lucius Malfoy,” a decrepit voice coughed. The owner of the voice was a wizened old man who quickly pushed his greasy greying hair from his face. “What are you doing here? Come to browse my wares?”

 

Lucius baulked and sniffed in disdain. He avoided touching anything in the shop and regretted passing through the door. He was a desperate man and as a desperate man, well, he took drastic measures.

 

“I’m avoiding my wife if you must know,” Lucius snapped.

 

“Avoid her elsewhere, Malfoy,” Borgin growled rudely.

 

“I see your sunny disposition hasn’t changed much over the years, has it?” Lucius harrumphed as a pitch-black owl swooped near his head. He watched the beast drop a small parcel in Borgin’s hands.

 

“You’re not nearly as unpleasant as you used to be, pity really,” Borgin scoffed and shoved the parcel into the pocket of his black apron.

 

“I’ve taken up drinking. It’s a delightful pastime. After a while, you don’t much care about your surroundings at all. You should give it a go.”

 

Lucius took a healthy gulp from his engraved silver flask and raised it in silent salute. He nearly pressed his face to the glass but decided he didn’t like the feel of dust against his face. He sighed happily to see his wife’s platinum hair retreating and knew it would safe to venture out of the shop.

 

“Get out, Malfoy. I never could stomach you or that wretch of a son of yours. Heard it on good authority he’s smitten with a Mudblood. Abraxas would have set that boy straight, but you never had your father’s constitution,” Borgin chortled happily until it segued into a hacking cough.

 

Lucius wrenched open the door and stepped into the street. He didn’t bother to conceal his identity. He didn’t plan on remaining in Knockturn Alley. He sneered at Borgin, yet he did not draw his wand.

 

“Are you sure you’re feeling well, Borgin? You know a man of your age should be more careful where his _health_ is concerned. It would be a shame if something were to befall you, don’t you agree?”

 

Lucius smirked happily and took another nip from his flask. He hissed angrily at the wide-eyed stares and completely ignored the whispers as he marched down Knockturn Alley. He ascended the steps and was nearly encased in the warmth of Diagon Alley when an earsplitting scream sank him to his knees.

 

He covered his ears and twisted to stare over his shoulder in absolute horror. Borgin stumbled from his shop and half of his face was missing. He fell to his knees and a small box, barely significant, fell from his charred fingertips. The moment the box bounced along the pavement, it slammed shut and the infernal scream ended. As for Borgin, he pitched forward into a muddy puddle and looked as though he were dead.

 

“Lucius!” Narcissa Malfoy hurried along the cobblestone and fell to her knees at her husband’s side.

 

His arm automatically encased her and patted her in as soothing a manner as he could manage. His head was still fuzzy, but from the looks of it, Borgin was dead. Lucius didn’t wish to remain in Diagon Alley to suss out the truth, but he knew exactly what he needed to do.

 

“Cissa, we’ve got to go to the Ministry,” he whispered in her hair and his tone brooked no disobedience.

 

Narcissa gazed at the small group of witches and wizards and nodded slowly. She knew what they were thinking. She knew her husband was suspect and it was unsurprising. Lucius deserved their calculated glares and undisguised whispers considering his involvement in the First and Second Wizarding War.

 

They didn’t know him the way she knew him. They didn’t know the many nights he had spent writhing and shouting in his sleep as the memories tortured him into wakefulness. She knew he had been a fool and Lucius accepted it with much less grace than she.

 

“Quickly,” She whispered and helped him to his feet. “We’ll Apparate to Whitehall and access the Ministry from there.”

 

Lucius stumbled over his feet and kept his eyes downcast the moment they landed in Whitehall. He wondered how quickly the news had travelled, but it seemed no one paid them any mind. He grimaced at the state of the public toilets and vowed to Scourgify himself the moment he was able.

 

“I can’t believe we’re reduced to this,” he muttered.

 

“Don’t touch the tiles,” Narcissa snapped and stepped into the ladies.

 

She patted her blonde hair and resisted the urge to shake out her boots. She knew it was unnecessary, but there was still something incredibly grimy about travelling by toilet. It was definitely not her preferred mode of travel.

 

“Level Two,” Lucius instructed the moment he was able.

 

“The Aurors, Lucius? I don’t believe we’ll be well received there.”

 

Narcissa marched toward the lifts despite her husband’s garbled retort. She didn’t pretend to understand the purpose of their visit. She would have simply sent an owl and asked the Minister for tea. Lucius was always a bit on the dramatic side and she imagined that was where her son had inherited his antics as well.

 

“Williams, I believe would be our best bet. Robards is insufferable. I’d rather speak with the Head of Magical Law Enforcement if that’s an option,” Lucius mumbled.

 

“Mr Potter and Mr Zabini are just there,” Narcissa pointed and waved.

 

“Dammit, Cissa. You know the Potter boy drives me to drink!”

 

“Hmm yes, what doesn’t these days?”

 

Narcissa left her husband to stand there with his lips gaped and approached Blaise Zabini. She hadn’t heard of his appointment as an Auror and this displeased her greatly. She’d always been fond of the boy. It wasn’t his fault his mother was a murderous cow.

 

“Blaise Zabini you did not tell me you were an Auror,” Narcissa called down the corridor.

 

She was pleased to note he at least had the decency to look sufficiently abashed. It soothed her ruffled feathers so to speak. She embraced him and patted his cheek softly.

 

“Narcissa?” Blaise looked at Harry and gulped. “Yes, well it’s fairly new. You see uhm, Longbottom, er Neville Longbottom left the post in order to teach at Hogwarts. Theodore Nott told me about the opening and I applied. I’ve been incredibly busy and—“

 

“No matter. Lucius and I are here on official business. Perhaps Mr Williams or even Mr Robards has the time to speak with Lucius?”

 

Harry didn’t mind being silently rebuffed by the likes of the Malfoys. He’d have been pleased to never see them again, but alas, life didn’t quite work that way. He watched Lucius nervously stand behind his wife and offer nothing, which was quite peculiar. It piqued his interest, therefore it was only natural for him to interject.

 

“Williams and Robards are in the courts today,” Harry offered. “It seems you’ll be stuck with us.”

 

“Fantastic,” Lucius sneered.

 

“Oh yes, sarcasm, that’s totally conducive to the matter at hand, please continue,” Harry quipped.

 

Blaise was suddenly overcome by a violent coughing fit and it was easy to ignore the grey eyes that narrowed dangerously. He gestured toward an empty office and the Malfoys swept passed him. Blaise didn’t mind working with Harry Potter. It was Ron Weasley that drove him mad, but the bloke was assigned to Astoria for the day, which put an extra spring in his steps.

 

He entered the office and noted the armchairs were Transfigured into plush brocade. The Malfoys were not the sort to rest their weary bums on shabby plaid. He listened carefully while Lucius spun his tale and noted Potter’s actual interest in the matter.

 

“Alright, so you’re here to report a crime that you witnessed but had nothing to do with. You’re also convinced that someone wished to make it look as though it was your fault. Answer me this, Lucius. Who hates you enough for all of that?” Harry Potter crossed his arms in his surly manner and dared Lucius Malfoy to belittle him.

 

“Everyone, obviously. Honestly, Potter, you’d think after all these years you’d have smartened up at least a bit. Your intelligence was obviously over exaggerated. Get me Granger, she might be Muggleborn, but she’s a damn sight smarter than you,” Lucius frowned unhappily upon the discovery his flask had been emptied and therefore he did what he did best. He pouted.

 

“Lucius, behave,” Narcissa reprimanded her husband, but her smile caused her harshness to fall flat.

 

“I haven’t the patience for this! Where’s my son? Where’s Nott? Where’s the fucking Minister for that matter? Does anyone actually work around here? Ridiculous,” Lucius leapt from his seat, pushed passed Harry Potter, and strode down the corridor with sure steps.

 

“Zabini, stay with Mrs Malfoy. See if she’s got anything to add. Apparently, I’ve got to chase after fucking Lucius. This is ridiculous.”

 

Harry chased after him, but Lucius had much longer legs. He was a man on a mission and he was not the sort of wizard to allow an annoyance such as Harry Potter to stop him. He rapped his knuckles against numerous doors, popped his head in, grumbled, and left.

 

“Finally! Theodore, wait, is that my son? Is he snogging—is that Hermione Granger? I haven’t nearly enough libation to deal with this situation. I haven’t any at all, Theodore, rectify the situation quickly!”

 

Daphne Greengrass crossed her legs and chuckled lightly. It was quite the spectacle to behold. While she hadn’t ever believed Draco was right for her sister, the fact that he was oblivious to his surroundings while he snogged Hermione was laughable. They’d never got on and yet the chemistry between them was explosive.

 

“They’ve been at this for a bit,” Daphne smiled demurely. “I wouldn’t suggest touching her. Draco’s eyes are quite black.”

 

Draco was vaguely aware of the fact his father had burst into the interrogation room. He couldn’t be bothered to offer a polite greeting. He was much too busy plundering Hermione’s willing mouth. He wasn’t certain how it happened.

 

Hermione had been mumbling against his throat, something about her breasts and all he could feel was the soft globes pressed into his chest. He hadn’t wanted his cock to twitch in his trousers. He definitely hadn’t wanted to stare into vulnerable red-rimmed eyes, but he had.

 

“That bloody mark will be the end of us,” Lucius sneered. “One little mishap and he chose _her_.”

 

Lucius had enough sense to avert his eyes from his son’s roving hands. It was quite the spectacle. He was incredibly uncomfortable and it became worse as the metal table scraped across the checkered tile. He had a sneaking suspicion the Muggleborn witch’s arse struck it with every unseemly arch of her back and he hoped they had enough decency not to shag in mixed company.

 

“My parents are not going to be pleased. I can’t wait until they’re informed. Can we tell them Draco and Hermione are in love? Please?” Daphne’s blue eyes lit with mischievous excitement and even Lucius managed a small smile.

 

“Did you know Draco has attempted to thoroughly convince us he has not chosen Ms Granger? It’s highly amusing to watch him bluster about, especially when he’s angry. I suppose he believes his parents are nothing more than old fools,” Lucius graciously accepted his refilled flask from the returned Theo with a sigh of thanks. “Please Silence them. I would do it, but I might accidentally hex off my son’s prized appendage.”

 

Theo refused to argue with the older wizard and did as he was bid. He’d met Harry in the corridor and promised to delve into the elder Malfoy’s statement. Of course, he hadn’t meant during Draco’s intense snog session, but Lucius seemed content to drink and chat with Daphne rather than venture anywhere else.

 

“They cast a Charm around us, Granger,” Draco murmured against Hermione’s ear. “We should stop.”

 

“No, not yet,” Hermione whined. “I can feel him on me. He fills my nostrils and I can’t get rid of him. I need this.”

 

Hermione’s hips continued in their tantalizingly slow circles that were slowly driving him mad. She had already freed his cock from the confines of his trousers and the only thing left between them was his underthings as hers were inexplicably missing. He refused to shag her, not like this. Hell, Draco wasn’t even certain he liked her enough, but the draw was nearly more than he could bear.

 

“Why did you ask for me?” Draco inquired as he dragged his teeth over her enticing silvery mark. He vaguely wondered when it had darkened so significantly as he rather missed the blinding white against her skin.

 

“H-he asked me to show it to him!” Hermione exclaimed in his ear. “I can’t believe I remembered that. I just, I don’t understand it, but you make me feel safe. I need to feel safe and I know it’s completely illogical, but I just feel—“ She shook her head sadly. “It’s stupid.”

 

“If you don’t stop rocking, I’m going to come in my shorts,” Draco’s strained voiced filled her ear, yet she didn’t stop.

 

Her fingers dug into his shoulders and shifted into his erection. She could feel it against her thigh, but that’s not where she wanted it. Her skin felt hot, as though she was chasing a high she could never reach. Every touch, every kiss soothed her rattled nerves and erased the remnants of filth she felt against her skin. Hermione couldn’t put it into words. She didn’t understand it and frankly, it was driving her a bit mad.

 

“If you draped your cloak around me, it would be a simple matter to—“

 

“Granger, I am not shagging you with my father staring at me. I don’t care how much you beg. You’ve just been through something incredibly traumatic and while I’m definitely not against burying my cock in you, it won’t be here,” Draco valiantly tried to keep her hips still, but Hermione was quite a determined witch.

 

“When?” She crooned in his ear and sunk her teeth into the fleshy skin beneath his jaw.

 

Draco’s head fell to her shoulder and he was simply incapable of avoiding the mark he’d left on her skin. Her body called to his in ways he’d never imagined and he was quite conflicted about it. He tried to hold her still, truly he did, but that determined witch was no match for him. Draco felt her tremble beneath him and the combination of her lips sucking his throat, the magic of the mark, and that gods be damned rocking, he spilt against her thigh.

 

“You cannot bury yourself in me,” Draco finally croaked. He removed his wand from the back pocket of his trousers and removed the Charm that surrounded them.

 

“Smith suggested the girls remain together for a few days. It’s a fine idea. Perhaps they’ll recall their experiences if they’re together. At the very least, it would provide some sort of support. Potter’s offered up Grimmauld Place since Pansy refused anything less than the best accommodations, which is no surprise there,” Theo spoke matter of factly and ignored the stench of sex in the air.

 

Draco nodded and set to task. He quietly Scourgified his lap and Transfigured his favourite handkerchief into a pair of knickers for Hermione. It was obvious she was embarrassed by her wanton display, but he hadn’t the time to coddle her. She required more than he was currently capable and it was best if she leant on women in similar circumstances.

 

“Son,” Lucius snickered, “your stamina leaves something to be desired.”

 

“Father,” Draco growled, “why are you here?”

 

“Oh, don’t mind me. By all means, continue molesting your witch. There was only a mishap in Knockturn Alley. I’m fairly certain Borgin is dead and I’m to be implicated, but as long as you spill your seed on Ministry time, all is well in the world.”


	11. 11

_ I think, I’m afraid to be happy, because when I do get too happy,  _ _ something bad always happens.  –  Hermione Granger _

* * *

  
  


He watched.  He did so love to watch.  He watched her cling to Malfoy as though he was her Saving Grace.  He watched her knees knock and her lips tremble.  He watched her eyes widen, laced with fear and they fed his obsession.

 

It wasn’t about her, it never was.  She was merely a byproduct of his madness and that suited him just fine.  He’d heard the whisperings in the Ministry.  He knew what she was, even if she denied it, even if he denied it.

 

Hermione Granger was a Veela mate, the likes of which hadn’t been seen for centuries.  Draco Malfoy was an anomaly.  A male Veela, who had ever heard of such a thing?  Surely, not him and he prided himself on his knowledge.

 

It was unknown territory, which was disconcerting, to say the least, but he’d learned much.  Apparently, Malfoy’s ability to sense his mate was nonexistent without the bond firmly in place.  He wondered how much time he had to torture them before they spoilt all his fun with endless shagging.

 

His father, on the other hand, was an easy target.  Lucius Malfoy lived under constant scrutiny and suspicion.  It was to be expected considering his dealings with the Dark Lord during the War.  A Death Eater, despite forsaking their previous allegiance, was still a Death Eater.

 

He wandered the corridors of the Ministry, desperate for a sliver of information.  He paused near the Interrogation Rooms and nervously looked over his shoulder.  He knew Malfoy had vacated the premises with Granger carefully cradled in his arms, yet Lucius was nowhere to be seen.  He couldn’t afford to be caught lurking.  It would ruin everything.

 

“Why were you in Knockturn Alley, Mr Malfoy?”  

 

He heard Theodore Nott tiredly ask the question.  It was obvious the Investigator wasn’t invested and that irked him.  He wanted the Ministry to lock the bastard away, perhaps even strip him of his wealth, but it was obvious it would take more than an explosion to accomplish.

 

“What was that?”

 

“I said!”  Lucius shouted angrily, “I was hiding from my wife!”

 

His jaw ached with the force of his clench as Nott laughed.  He fucking laughed.  It was yet another fucking joke and justice would not be served, not here.  He shouldn’t have been surprised.  After all, his parents had been obliterated by the fucking Light.  Accidental they said.  We’re sorry, they said, not that it did him any good.  

 

It didn’t bring back his parents.  It didn’t mend the fractures of his family.  It was nothing more than placating words that further fueled his rage.  The fucking Ministry wasn’t concerned with truth, justice, or goodness in any way shape or form.  They were much more concerned with concealing their sins in the darkness, under the guise of greater good.

 

“What was the greater good for my parents?”  He hissed as his fingernails dug into the calloused skin on his palms.  “They weren’t Death Eaters.  They were never Death Eaters.  They were in hiding for fucks sake and what?  A band of rogue Death Eaters happened into the village and decimation was the consensus?”

 

He had to leave.  He couldn’t remain within the walls of the crooked Ministry any longer.  He needed to meet with his brother.  He needed to formulate his next plan.  He needed to bring them to their fucking knees.

 

* * *

 

“What have you done to her?”

 

“I haven’t done fuck all.  Kindly get the fuck out of the way, would you?”

 

“You’re obnoxious.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve heard it all before.”

 

Draco Malfoy pushed his way into Hermione’s flat, completely frustrated with the strikingly gorgeous witch barring entry.  Strangely, he wasn’t distracted by her cleavage, her long legs, her long sooty lashes, not any of it.  Instead, he was completely focused on the slumbering brunette firmly held in his arms.

 

“By all means come on in then, make yourself at home.  Prop your feet on the table and oh wait, you’ve already done all that.  Anything else I can do for you?”  Gemma Farley crossed her long arms and tapped her toes angrily.

 

“I couldn’t get her to eat.  I don’t think she’s eaten today.”

 

Gemma softened with his whispered words.  She’d heard of him, hell, everyone had, but she hadn’t interacted with him, despite her closeness with Hermione.  He was a beautiful man.  She’d have to be blind in order to think otherwise.  She was used to being the sort of witch that drew the wizard’s attentions and while she considered Hermione a friend, Gemma didn’t much care for the fact Draco Malfoy wasn’t the slightest bit intrigued.

 

“I’ll set the kettle on and forage for a light tea.”  

 

Gemma eyed him appreciatively and huffed.  He didn’t even look at her.  It was ridiculous.  He was beautiful.  She was beautiful.  It was only natural that—bollocks.  She was so stupid.  How could she have forgotten?

 

Gemma back away slowly, suddenly uncomfortable with the darkening of his eyes and the curve of his fingers as he held Hermione securely against his chest.  He was Veela and Hermione was his.  No other would do, which made Gemma feel much better about the situation.  She hadn’t lost her touch, thank Merlin.

 

Draco ignored the pretty witch.  He wasn’t even slightly interested.  Instead, he yanked the dark green caftan off the back of the settee and tucked it around Hermione.  Her curls brushed his chin, her hand curled on his chest, her lips slightly parted; it was quite the pretty picture.

 

She snuggled into him and he stiffened.  Her warm breath expelled against his throat and fuck he wanted to bite her.  He felt his fingernails stretch, painfully so, but he didn’t want to know.  He didn’t want to look at them.  He hissed, flinched even, as his incisors elongated and clipped his lip.

 

He didn’t want this.  He’d never wanted this.  He didn’t want to be some strange sort of magical creature, hybrid even, bound to a singular witch.  He didn’t want an Arranged Marriage either, but it seemed his wants, his desires meant nothing to the fucking fates.

 

“It’ll never work,”  he muttered, even as his arms held her tighter and he inhaled her heady, unique scent.

 

“She wouldn’t reject you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  Gemma set a  modest tea service on the coffee table, carefully maintaining space between them.  “She wrote me, after you bit her.  I cut my holiday short, but it seems I’m really not needed here.  It seems you’ve got it all in hand.  I can’t pretend I know much about Veela, perhaps you might find the time to educate me.”

 

Hermione murmured in her sleep, her tongue flicking between her lips to moisten them, and Draco froze.  He hissed low, much like a growl, and dug his talon-like fingers into the supple skin of her arse.  She stretched and Gemma had never seen anymore move so quickly.  Draco swung his legs onto the settee and adjusted Hermione until she settled comfortably while Gemma merely blinked.

 

“I don’t feel rejection.  It isn’t an issue, not for me.  Acceptance, that’s where the lines are drawn.  I need her to accept me, hell, I need to accept  _ her, _ and it’s an impossibility. “

 

“Why?”  Gemma maintained her distance, still completely riveted.  “I mean, your father is a pompous arse, but he would disprove of anyone you chose.  You work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  She’s your partner.  Frankly, it was bound to happen regardless of your heritage.  You really should research the history of the Ministry and see for yourself.  I doubt there’s been a pairing that hasn’t segued into some sort of tawdry affair at the very least.”

 

She watched the way his eyes lightened, as though he were carefully considering her insight.  In another life, Gemma might have attempted to manipulate the situation and claim him as her own.  She freely admitted her conniving ways, but what was between them was stronger than anything she’d ever seen.  She wondered how much of their attachment was the Veela blood rushing through his veins and how much was simply…them. 

 

“No one else exists, not anymore.  I’m constantly at war with myself, hating it, craving her, in a seemingly endless loop.  I want to fuck her and strangle her all at once.  I want to protect her and run from her until I’m free, but I can’t.  I hate her, fuck, no I don’t.  I want to hate her, but I can’t.  I fucking can’t.”

 

Draco slipped his arms beneath the caftan and inhaled against Hermione’s throat until his chest rumbled.  Gemma pretended she hadn’t the slightest idea his hands tugged her blouse from the waistband of her pencil skirt.  She pretended she couldn’t see the relief etched on the Pureblood’s face when he touched her bare skin.  

 

“She’ll be difficult.  She’ll attempt to research her way out of it.  She’ll tell you that you’re barmy or mistaken.  For being a celebrated witch, she’s incredibly self-deprecating.  You’ll have to convince her.  She’s never been with anyone before, not really.  She’s afraid to give herself to someone, to love someone completely.”  Gemma sipped her tea slowly and knew Draco was just as exhausted as Hermione.

 

“Why?  She dated Krum while we were in school.  She pined after Weasley, not that he deserved her.  She drives me absolutely mad.  I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this.”

 

“Sometimes it’s easier to speak with a stranger than with anyone else.”  Gemma avoided his probing blackened eyes and focused on the errant tea leaves floating in her teacup.  “She wanted things to work with Ron.  He was familiar and she likes familiar.  Hermione works really bloody hard and I think when it comes to her love life, it’s the one place she wants simple.  Seems she won’t get that, not now.  I’m sorry, but I’m incredibly uncomfortable.  I  suggest you get some rest while you can.  When she wakes, tell her I’m returning to Bali.  She doesn’t need me to protect her, that’s your job now, Malfoy.  Don’t fuck it up.”

 

Draco’s lip involuntarily curled as Gemma passed them.  He held back the snarl, gnashing his teeth together and burying his nose in Hermione’s hair.  The tension seeped from his limbs, especially when she sidled into his side.  He slid his wand from his pocket and widened the settee, terrified to venture to her bedroom.  He didn’t trust himself, hell, he didn’t trust her either.

 

He didn’t know how many hours passed as he sat there, drinking her in, watching her slumber.  Ordinarily, he wasn’t a sentimental wizard as such notions had been frowned upon within the confines of his upbringing.  However, with her in his arms, it was easy to close his eyes and imagine a future he’d always believed to be outside his grasp.

 

“I’m sorry,”  she whispered, her dark lashes fluttered open and she gently pushed his hand from her waist.  “I think I let my irrational emotions overtake my logic and—“

 

“I’m sorry I marked you.  You didn’t sign up for this, for us, and,”  Draco pressed his lips to her forehead, unable to continue.

 

“No, it’s my fault.  If I hadn’t created the Hex, you wouldn’t have lost your head.  You wouldn’t have chosen me and I understand that.  I really do think we ought to press your parents for more information.  I find it difficult to believe they haven’t any books on the subject of their uniqueness and I do believe it would bode well to be more thoroughly informed.  There might just be a way out of this Malfoy.  It isn’t as if we’ve bonded, it’s only a slight mark and perhaps with time it will fade and you’ll be able to carefully choose your spouse.”

 

Draco patiently listened to her ridiculous rambling, a half smile quirked at the corner of his lips.  He considered taunting her a bit, merely to rile her up.  He was always fond of her temper.  The shine in her eyes, the bounce of her hair, the light flush on her cheeks, tiny little fists that sometimes sat on her hips, legs akimbo while she shouted at him, not that he paid her any mind.  He didn’t, rile her that is, instead he groped her delectable bum and hoped for the best.

 

“I’m fairly certain that’s not how it works.  In fact, I’d bet my fortune on the fact if I were to sink my teeth fully into your throat, our magic would entwine and bind us for eternity.  The current bite, mild as it is, is merely a precursor,  a bookmark if you will.  It is a reminder of what is to come, Granger, and it is not fucking transferrable.”

 

“Will you let me up?”

 

He heard the panic, felt the stiffness of her limbs, yet he held fast.  She turned slightly, half on top of him, which only offered more of her bum for his pleasure.  Draco, of course, took full advantage and groaned until her cheeks were bright red.

 

“I don’t think I want to do that, kitten.  Might I suggest we…test the theory of choice?”

 

Hermione shoved against his shoulder in an attempt to right herself, the intimacy of the situation reminiscent of their near shag.  It was titillating, yet she was unsure.  The attraction pooled in her stomach, aflutter with tension and desire, but this was Malfoy. 

 

Draco’s hands dallied on her hips, his fingers carefully crinkling her skirt, dragging it up her thighs inch by inch.  The silk of her knickers beneath his fingertips, while his tongue flicked over the light mark, caused them both to hiss.  He knew he probably could shag her if he pressed, but he knew he had to wait.  He needed to wait until that overwhelming precarious moment when he would be driven by more than simple lust.

 

Hermione tilted her head, her hands twisted against the fabric at his shoulders tugging him closer rather than pushing him away.  It was madness.  She knew it was madness, yet she also felt that in a little madness there was also truth.

 

“T-theory of choice?”

 

Draco turned, slightly, one hand lost in her curls, the other stroking the silk on her hip.  He suckled her throat, careful to keep his teeth contained, his hips undulating to a gentle beat.  The sound of her hums filled his ears, addictive as was, and it took every ounce of self-control to keep from tearing her clothes to shreds and burying himself in her welcoming warmth.

 

“Remember the morning after the one-eared twin’s disastrous Potion?”  Draco nipped her earlobe and preened when her breath caught.  “I’d quite like to recreate it, if you’re amenable, of course.”

 

“M-Malfoy, we nearly h-had sex, I don’t—“

 

“Kitten, you’re ahead of yourself again.”  Draco’s thumb traced her cheek just before he pecked her lips, softly until the tension seeped from her bones.  “The theory of choice, kitten, is merely pleasure, without influences other than our own desires.”

 

Her eyes dropped to his hands, her chest rapidly rising as he plucked open her blouse.  Carefully, he avoided the swell of her heaving breasts, pleased to see gooseflesh decorating her porcelain skin.  It was a precarious slope, he knew that much, but the temptation was more than he could bear.

 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,”  Hermione whimpered, conflicted and distraught.

 

“Anyone ever told you that you think too much?”  Draco asked as he languidly dragged down the zipper of her skirt and tugged it from her hips.

 

She was a sight to behold honestly.  Her blouse spread open, shoes discarded; shimmery blue silk knickers and a lacy beige brassiere were all that hid her assets from his hungry eyes.  He drank in every detail, memorising the indentation of her waist, the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts.

 

“You’re staring.”  Hermione averted her eyes, suddenly self-conscious, not that it ended his achingly slow perusal.  “Your eyes are black.  Why haven’t you forced the bond?”

 

“Hmm,” he hummed lightly, quickly settling between her open legs, his cheek pressed against her thigh.  “Acceptance, Granger.  Are you prepared to accept the bond and all it entails?  Are you ready to be my wife and bear my children?  Hell, am I ready for that?  If neither of us can answer with an unwavering confirmation, it very well could be damaging to our magical core—“

 

“I-I’ve read about such instances, usually magical creatures that just so happen to mate for life.  It seems if one creature is unwilling and the other is insistent, their inherent genetic magic can implode and can cause death, but I suppose I never attributed it to Veela.”

 

Draco smiled as she continued to prattle.  He liked to listen to the sound of her voice, even when she spouted inconsequential details from obscure boring books.  He also liked the catch in her throat as his hand ran the length of her left leg and teased the edge of her knickers.

 

She didn’t know what to do with her hands.  It was such a little thing, a silly thing to fret about, and yet she was most concerned about where to put her hands.  She settled for allowing her left arm to drop to her side uselessly, but the other, the other refused to submit and hovered over Draco’s head before threading his fine hair through her fingers.

 

His chest rumbled, easily accepting her touch, craving more.  Hell, if he closed his eyes, he would have easily fallen asleep, yet that would have ruined everything.  He didn’t want to sleep.  He wanted to touch her, to taste her, to push her limits until her only choice was acceptance.

 

“Do you want me to touch you, kitten?”  Draco whispered, his lips grazing the dampened apex of her knickers.

 

“Yes,” she crooned, her fingers fisted in his hair.

 

“Do you want me—“

 

“Yes!”  Hermione writhed, desperate for friction, only to whimper in discontent when he pulled away.

 

“That, my delightful little kitten, is called desire.”

 

Draco casually vacated the widened settee and righted his rumpled clothes.  His liquid grey eyes paused to appreciate her barely clad form, a twinge of regret tight in his chest.  He knew it was for the best, to leave her completely unsatiated, her body screaming for release.  Gods how he wanted her and soon the call to mate her would be more than he could bear, but it would not be that day.

 

* * *

 

The ice clinked against the side of the crystal tumbler, beads of sweat cascaded down the side.  Bleary grey eyes followed the droplets descent until his wife chastised him with a glare and slapped a doily on the side table.  He grinned, cheekily, and slurped his Blishen’s Firewhiskey loudly, simply to irk her.

 

“Subterfuge.  Falsehoods.  Manipulation.  Conspiring with the enemy.  My, I’ve never been more attracted to you.”

 

“What else is there to be done?”  Narcissa snapped her fingers and a timid elf produced a glass of sherry for her nerves.  “There wasn’t a choice in the matter.  We were running out of time, Lucius.  He would have married that wretched Greengrass simply because you bade him to do so.”

 

“She’s Pureblood,”  Lucius shrugged, completely nonplussed.

 

“He has to make the choice!  We don’t get to take that from him!”  Narcissa pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled slowly.  “The only reason he’s hesitating is because in so many ways he’s still a child desperately seeking his father’s approval.”

 

“I never cared a wit about my father’s appro—“

 

“Liar.  Do not think for one moment that I’ve forgotten the way you cowered before your father when my parents told him what you had done.  For a moment, I actually rethought my acceptance, not that it could be altered.  I’d never seen you so bloody pitiful.  No, wait, that’s not true.  I had nearly forgotten the abysmal year you invited Tom Riddle to reside in our home.  Yes, that was definitely worse.”

 

Lucius sulked, as he often did when his wife was feeling particularly sassy and returned his attention to his firewhiskey.  His firewhiskey never berated him.  His firewhiskey never shouted at him.  His firewhiskey never told him don’t touch me there.  It was never any wonder why he spent more time lovingly caressing his beautiful amber liquid than he did caressing his wife.

 

“I refuse to take part in your scheming, Cissa.”  He attempted to sound utterly and completely self-righteous, but the words slurred together into a barely cognizant sentence. 

 

“Do what you do best, Lucius.  Drink and ignore.  However, if you just so happen to call our future daughter-in-law a Mudblood, I will not come to your aid when Draco’s heritage manifests and tears you to bits.”  Narcissa sniffed daintily though her ice blue eyes were filled with mutinous fire.

 

Lucius shrugged, his lids sagging as the burn of his firewhiskey consumed him.  He refused to argue with his wife.  It was pointless and she was an exceedingly stubborn woman.  Hell, she’d been the only witch or wizard for that matter to be included within the confines of the Inner Circle without a brand on her arm.  It said more than enough.

 

“I’m not going to be nice to her.  Her very presence leaves a stench in my nostrils.  However, some things cannot be helped.  I will play along with your fanfare of deception.  I suppose I must accept the witch of his choosing, despite her inferior blood.”  He shuddered and watched, aghast as his precious Blishen’s splashed up the side of his tumbler to be lost forever as it struck the floor.

 

“The only stench in my nostrils is my bigoted husband.”  Narcissa marched to the double doors and pushed them open, her patience long since evaporated.  “Don’t fuck this up, Lucius.  I will end you.”

  
  



	12. 12

_ My father will hear about this!  - Draco Malfoy _

* * *

 

The Ministry Ball was in full swing, and Draco Malfoy hated every moment of it.  He glowered at every witch that dared to invade his space, and drank his weight in firewhiskey before the speeches ever began.  The purple smudges beneath his eyes were the obvious signs he hadn’t been properly sleeping, but Theodore Nott wasn’t going to broach the subject.  
  
  
He knew better than to prod the dragon when he was in one of his moods.  Theo had a sneaking suspicion Draco’s foul disposition was due to Hermione Granger spinning on the dance floor with the Weasley oaf.  Her exceedingly short, silver dress sparkled in the fairy lights, which created quite the alluring sight. She was an absolute vision.  
  


Hermione’s curls were pulled to the top of her head and secured with quite an expensive diamond clasp.  Theo knew it wasn’t something she had purchased and Ronald Weasley’s gifts were half eaten chocolate frogs.  He observed the angry tic in Draco’s cheek and the white knuckled fist against the crystal tumbler with amusement.   
  


“Weasley is a terrible dancer.”  Draco spat through clenched teeth, though his eyes never left Hermione.   
  


“He hasn’t improved a bit since the Yule Ball.  Someone should really do something about that,” Theo sniffed with an affected disdain.  “You never told me what happened between you and her.”   
  


“There’s nothing to tell, Nott.  Mind your own fucking business.” Draco snarled nastily.   
  


“Hmm yes, there’s definitely a story there.  This will be ever so interesting,” Theo hummed with delight.  “There’s more to it than that dastardly display at the Ministry, not to mention the little white mark turned silver that she usually hides, or the—“   
  


“Shut up, Theo!”   
  


Theo knew it was only a matter of time before the delightful explosion that was Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger erupted.  He did so wish to have a good seat to the show. The sexual tension between them was beyond bordering on obscene and he had suspicions long before he heard the rumour about a pretty little mark on the back of Hermione’s neck.  Oh yes, there was definitely a story there.   
  


“This is ridiculous.”  Draco stiffened when Hermione and Ron stumbled a little too close to him.   
  


His eyes widened as he noticed the length of her dress was even shorter than he first believed.  It barely grazed the cusp of her luscious arse, not that he would admit he believed her arse was luscious.  The crystal tumbler shattered in his hand and Draco was only vaguely aware of the sting as the firewhiskey dripped down his palm.   
  


“She’s really got you in a state.”  Theo chuckled, but it was quickly cut short by the hard wood of a wand against his throat.   
  


“Shut it.”  Draco hissed quite angrily, while his eyes constantly flitted toward the alluring object of his affections.  
  


“Alright then, you could at least tell me all about that Veela Tendencies nonsense I heard whispered incessantly at the Ministry.”  Theo shrugged in his regular good-natured manner and eased the wand from the taut skin of his jugular.   
  


“Apparently, there’s Veela blood in the Black and Malfoy ancestry.  I don’t know how many generations back, nor do I care. Don’t look at me like that, I’m not going to turn into some sort of beast or anything, my father never has.”  Draco ruffled his pale blond hair and exhaled harshly. “He  _ has _ , however, marked my mother.  She, in turn, marked him as well.”  He hastily healed his hand and shoved his wand back into his pocket.   
  


“Perhaps you should have learned exactly what it fucking meant before you sunk your teeth into her.  There’s a bloody brilliant idea. What the fuck were you thinking? Do you even know what you’ve done?”  Theo was angry, that much was obvious, though as to why was anyone’s guess.   
  


“I don’t even fucking remember.  Mother and Lovegood believe Granger’s Hex exacerbated the situation and was the catalyst to this shit I’m currently suffering,”  Draco resisted the urge to growl low and deep upon spying Hermione and Ron still awkwardly dancing.   
  


“I find it hard to believe your father didn’t say a word after that ridiculous display at the Ministry.  I mean, come on Malfoy, it’s obvious you want her and she definitely wasn’t complaining,” Theo kept a careful eye on Draco as he spoke.   
  


“He said plenty actually.  He’s mocked me continuously, thank you ever so much for bringing up such a humiliating experience.  I’ve been instructed to bring Granger to dinner with my parents. Can you imagine it? I know they’re plotting, Theo.  This is my parents. My mother keeps asking me about that bloody owl she sent, but I don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about.  I haven’t received fuckall from her,” Draco raked his fingers through his platinum locks and searched for Hermione’s sparkling dress amidst the dancers.  “I’ve told her that, of course. She smirks in that infuriating manner and then mentions having bloody Weasley to tea.”   
  


Theo shrugged since he didn’t have much to offer.  He was tired of listening to his mate superficially reject the attraction.  There was nothing wrong with a Muggleborn and a Malfoy. The War was over. Most of the prejudices had dissipated and if they hadn’t, they were sufficiently concealed, which was nearly the same thing in his eyes.   
  


He considered asking Hermione to dance, but Theo valued his life.  It was one thing for one of her oldest friends to bumble across the dance floor and it was quite another for Theo to infringe.  Draco would consider it a personal affront and well, it wasn’t worth it.   
  


“Weasley told me you nearly shagged her,”  Theo snickered as the firewhiskey dulled his senses.  “Was that before or after your near shag in Interrogation?”   
  


“Weasley needs to learn to keep his mouth shut,”  Draco groaned. “Yeah, alright. Are you happy now?  I’ve snogged her a handful of times. I’ve nearly shagged her, more than once, and she won’t return my fucking owls.”  Draco cringed at his admission and scowled once more.   
  


Hermione laughed gaily and spent most of her time avoiding Ron’s clumsy steps, but she was still having a glorious time.  She knew Monday morning would come quickly enough and she would be back to tense silences and throngs of paperwork. She stumbled in her silver stilettos and decided she had danced with Ron for long enough.   
  


Surprisingly, she had enjoyed the remainder of her week, despite the dastardly mishap with Malfoy.  She’d distracted herself with long hours at the Ministry assigned Safe House and while she hadn’t been able to glean any more information from her hazy memories, the camaraderie between her and the other witches in question was healing in and of itself.  In fact, she’d grown closer to Daphne and Pansy, which still managed to confound her.   
  


They were brilliant witches and not nearly as obnoxious as she’d once believed.  Hermione realised she’d had her fair share of prejudices and the Slytherins were quick to dispel them.  Despite Pansy’s biting tongue, she was intuitive and had quite the addiction to biscuits. Daphne was demure and sweet, but she had a biting tongue and voracious temper when the circumstances called for it.   
  


Hermione continued in contemplation, paused near the buffet, and helped herself to a flute of cool, refreshing champagne.  She spied Harry in the vice grip of Lavender and shook her head lightly. She knew something was amiss in their marriage, but from what she had gleaned from Lavender, it was Harry.  He had been disappearing at odd hours without explanation. Hermione actually felt sorry for the flighty Gryffindor and she blamed Harry for inciting such unwanted feelings.   
  


It was really the angry Slytherins that drew her attention.  From the looks of it, Draco and Theo were arguing, and this wasn’t the time or place.  She didn’t want to interfere, yet her curiosity got the best of her, as it always did. She pretended to inspect the accoutrements as she eavesdropped.   
  


“Maybe you should just talk to her, Malfoy.  Something is obviously bothering you and I know it’s more than the Contract.  Your parents aren’t even going to enforce the fucking thing anyway and you bloody well know it.  Granger seems to be in good spirits and her dress is divine. Even you have to admit to that much.  She’s brilliant, she’d probably know more about Veela Tendencies than you do.” Theo’s voice was low, with soothing tones, and Hermione hedged closer.   
  


“Stop talking to me about her.  I’m sick of your insinuations, Nott.  We work together, that’s it. It’s only a matter of time before Granger becomes a Weasley and the Wizarding World holds a fucking gala in celebration.”  Draco’s wand hand twitched, which was the only indication of his falsehood, not that Theo noticed, but she did.   
  


“You’re ridiculous, especially if you honestly believe Granger would  _ ever _ become a Weasley.  She’s literally marked for you.  C’mon Malfoy, at least admit she looks delectable.”  Theo bumped Draco’s shoulder playfully, but Draco’s mood was beyond sour.   
  


“She looks like a slag.”  Draco scoured the crowd for the familiar head of chestnut curls, frowning as he came up empty.   
  


Hermione gasped with outrage and marched directly toward her partner, wobbling on her silver heels.  She missed the softening of his grey eyes when he saw her approach. He was distracted by her approach and failed to see her raised hand until the sting of her slap had reddened his cheek.  They were entirely focused on each other, therefore Theo shook his head and slipped away into the shadows.   
  


“How dare you?”  Hermione’s large brown eyes glistened with anger but also hurt.   
  


“I fucking warned you.”  Draco wrapped his pale hand around her wrist and hauled her from the ballroom without preamble.   
  


Theo closed his eyes and hoped Draco didn’t do anything he would regret.  He also fervently hoped Hermione Granger managed to rein in her temper. They were a volatile lot and how they managed to work together in perfect harmony remained a mystery.   
  


“You’re going to strike me now, Malfoy?”  Hermione’s stilettos slid across the smooth marble floor as she struggled to keep up with his long strides.   
  


Draco spun on his heel with a snarl on his lips, until he spied her ridiculous shoes.  He rolled his eyes and easily hefted the sputtering witch over his shoulder. He clapped his hand across the back of her bare thighs and stormed toward the lift.   
  


Hermione pounded on his back, but it didn’t do much good.  She had considered screaming, yet doubted her voice would have been heard over the pulsating music in the ballroom.  She was angry with herself for leaving her wand in her office. There was no need to bring it to a Ministry function, especially when the function was held within the walls of the bloody Ministry, yet Hermione hadn’t counted on Draco Malfoy’s ire.   
  


She wondered as to his intentions, but then Draco stepped from the lift on Level 2, and she knew he was headed for their offices.  She was  _ nearly _ correct in her assumptions.  Draco kicked open the abandoned office nearest the lift and unceremoniously dropped her to her feet.   
  


Hermione stumbled, quickly regained her balance, and spun away from him.  She immediately made for the door, but Draco only smirked at her. He crossed his arms and listened to her mutter ‘Alohomora’ under her breath until Hermione stamped her foot in frustration.   
  


“Let me out, Malfoy.”  Hermione stubbornly refused to look at him.   
  


“Not until you’ve had your punishment.”  Draco walked around her slowly and made sure to keep his wand out of her reach.  “Silly little Granger didn’t bring her wand,” Draco tutted under his breath and finally smiled.   
  


“You’ve had your fun.  I shouldn’t have slapped you again, but you were being cruel and it was unnecessary!”  Hermione’s temper got the best of her, as it often did, and she flinched away from him.   
  


Draco growled low in his chest, startling her.  Hermione scurried toward the lone desk in the centre of the room, desperate to keep distance between them.  Understandably, he was faster than she and it was child’s play for him to capture her. He held her tight as he lowered himself upon the leather chair and pulled her across his lap.  Hermione yelped, but she was no match for the strength of the former Seeker.   
  


“This is your desk now.  The Minister decided we needed a dedicated space to devote ourselves to all this Muggle terror nonsense.  Your files are in the drawers. Mine are being delivered bright and early Monday morning.” Draco slid open the top drawer and showed Hermione her favourite quills laid gently side-by-side.   
  


“Why are you telling me this?  Let me up.” Hermione attempted to stand but Draco slammed her onto his lap and wrapped his arms tightly around her midriff.  
  


“I’m going to punish you, right here, Granger.  Every morning when you sit in this chair, you’re going to be reminded.  Perhaps you’ll think twice before striking me again,” Draco whispered the words ever so softly in her ear and inhaled against her throat.   
  


“I-I said I was sorry.”  Hermione refused to relax against his hard chest but she wasn’t seated in his lap for long.   
  


Draco chuckled and spread her across his lap.  Hermione’s breath vacated her lungs and she blinked in shock.  She was staring at the threadbare grey carpet and she didn’t know how that had happened.  She was on her stomach, resting on incredibly hard thighs, and her wrists were held so tightly it was almost painful, in the small of her back.   
  


Her feet were barely touching the ground but that wasn’t the part that bothered her.  It was the warm hand stroking the back of her thigh. It was the nimble fingers toying with the hem of her dress.  Hermione’s shoe slipped and they both paused.   
  


“You always say you’re sorry and yet you continue to strike me.  It’s my turn now, kitten.” Draco wrenched Hermione’s slinky silver dress over her hips and bared her silky grey knickers.   
  


“Stop it.  Don’t--don’t do anything you’ll regret, Malfoy.”  Hermione groaned in humiliation, her cheeks bright.   
  


“You’ve been in dire need of a good lashing for years, Granger.  I’m just the bloke to dole out such things.” Draco strengthened his hold on her wrists and slapped her arse cheeks soundly with an open palm.   
  


Hermione breathed a sigh of relief to know Draco wasn’t planning anything sordid, yet it was laced with the slightest hint of disappointment.  However, her breath came rushing out in shock upon feeling the sting on her backside. She honestly believed he’d let her up immediately, but he didn’t.   
  


He barely paused before landing another smack on her bottom.  After the third or fourth strike, his palm gingerly stroked the silk of her knickers.  Draco was quite pleased with himself. He quirked his head to the side to inspect Hermione’s reddened cheeks and inhaled deeply.   
  


“A-are you quite finished?  I’m going to…oh my gods, what are you doing?”  Hermione struggled, but it really was senseless.   
  


“Granger, your knickers are damp.”  She could hear his amusement, but the state of her knickers was drastically more embarrassing than Draco Malfoy’s amusement.   
  


“I was dancing.  It was warm.” The harsh edge of Hermione’s voice, despite her position, didn’t fool anyone, least of all Draco.   
  


“Is that really the best excuse you’ve got?”  Draco carefully peeled the grey silk down her thighs, leaving them to dangle on her ankles.  “You enjoyed it, didn’t you kitten?” Draco squeezed her rosy bum gently, pleased to see his handprints marring her flesh.   
  


“It’s sweat, you beast.”  Hermione turned her face from him, knowing he could hear her lie.  “You’ve had your fun. You’ve struck me and humiliated me. Let me up, Malfoy.”  
  


Hermione’s head spun slightly, but at least she was upright now.  She was also seated on Draco Malfoy’s lap with her dress bunched around her waist.  She wanted nothing more than to press her thighs together and go home. She wanted to examine the situation and find a logical explanation as to her arousal.   
  


“Let’s make a wager, kitten.”  Draco dragged his fingertips along the inside of her thigh and listened to her breaths quicken.   
  


“I don’t want to make a wager with you, let me go, dammit.”  Hermione wiggled in his lap, but that only exacerbated the situation as she grazed against the erection she hadn’t known was there.   
  


“You know I love it when you use foul language.”  Draco hissed and squeezed her right thigh. “If you’re not wet, I’ll let you go.  However, if you are, I’m going to Stick you to this chair.”   
  


“A-and then what?”  Hermione’s curiosity always got the best of her and this situation was no different.   
  


Draco ignored her, he was entirely too busy enjoying her discomfort.  He was slightly distracted by Hermione’s cleavage as she was near bursting from the top of her strapless dress.  It had begun as a lesson in punishment, but they were far beyond such constraints now.   
  


“Do you remember when you asked me to shag you?”   
  


He tapped his fingers on her thigh and smiled when her eyes dropped to watch the movement of his hand.  Draco barely had a grip on her wrists any longer, but Hermione was entirely too mesmerized to move. She watched his hand slide toward the apex of her thighs and held her breath.  Hermione willed her body not to betray her, but of course, it was too late for that.   
  


“Y-yes, but I hardly think—“   
  


Draco’s deft fingers swiped across her weeping lips and she shuddered.  He applied the slightest bit of pressure, even though he swore he wouldn’t.  The temptation was too great. She was too responsive. She was too wet. She was too everything.   
  


“Hermione?!  Are you here?!”  
  


Draco leapt from the chair, yet continued to keep a firm hand around Hermione’s waist.  He wasn’t surprised Harry Potter was skulking through the Ministry. Potter would do nearly anything to escape the clutches of his overbearing wife.  It disrupted Draco’s plans slightly, but he was quick to adjust.   
  


He pushed Hermione onto the leather chair, curious as to her silence.  Her silver dress was still bunched around her waist and that suited Draco just fine.  He removed his wand from his slacks pocket and performed a simple Sticking Charm with a salacious smile.   
  


“What are you doing?  Are you insane?” Hermione’s harsh whisper was only broken by the sound of Harry’s inebriated shouts and Draco held his finger to his lips.   
  


He knelt before her, enjoying the way her eyes widened in arousal laced with fear.  Draco dragged the chair forward as he climbed beneath the desk and forced Hermione’s knees to part.  
  


“Take a quill and some parchment from the drawer, kitten.”  Draco kneaded the flesh of her calves and rested his cheek against the inside of her knee.   
  


There was more than a little satisfaction to watch Hermione Granger grapple with the drawer.  Her hands were shaking, yet she managed to do exactly as she was bid. Her legs trembled, which only added to Draco’s desire.  He smirked against her smooth skin. He knew she wanted him and it pleased him.   
  


He flicked his wand with his free hand and a handful of files landed haphazardly on Hermione’s desk.  Her lips parted as she frowned, but then the office door was swinging open, and she froze. Hermione vaguely wondered when Draco had removed the Locking Charms.  Her mouth was suddenly dry, though she was aware of warm breaths littering her thighs.   
  


Harry Potter was squinting down the corridor and hadn’t noticed Hermione was seated in what was once considered an abandoned office.  She wanted to alert Harry to her presence, yet her gasp did the job for her. Harry’s head swivelled and he smiled, happy he had found her.   
  


Draco licked Hermione’s thigh slowly.  He grasped her warm arse cheeks and forced her thighs to part to accommodate him.  He imagined her eyes closed, lips parted, and nipples achingly hard. He exhaled on her pink lips and nearly moaned with appreciation when they clenched against him.   
  


Hermione’s left hand dropped from the desk and her fingers tangled in silky blond strands, pulling against them.  In response, Draco’s tongue swiped across her sex, teasing her, and he heard her shuddered sigh. He avoided the slick nub, swollen with desire and languidly thrust his tongue to and fro.   
  


“Hermione!  There you are.  D’ya know Ron’s looking for you?”  Harry stumbled through the door and plopped into the hard wooden chair across from his best mate.   
  


“N-no, Harry.  I haven’t seen, oh my  _ gods _ , Ron for quite some, sweet Merlin, some time.”  Hermione struggled with her pants to spout such a simple sentence, not that Harry noticed anything amiss in his inebriated state.   
  


“Yeah, well, he is.  Whatcha doin in here anyway?  The party’s still in full swing and it’s a jolly good time.”  Harry scratched his head. He was fairly certain he heard some sort of thumping, although he didn’t ask.   
  


“Y-you’ve caught me.  I’m--I’m avoiding Ron.”  Hermione dropped her head to her desk and her delicious little gasps washed over Draco’s head.   
  


“That’s probably a good idea.  He overheard you that day when you were talking to Luna.  He was going to propose you see. I told him it was stupid.  I mean, you’re not even together anymore, but you know Ron.” Harry shrugged happily, though he wished Hermione would look at him.   
  


Hermione could barely concentrate on Harry’s words due to her body’s betrayal.  She could feel the slick leather beneath her., her hips wishing nothing more than to undulate in rhythm with his ministrations.  She was no longer yanking on Draco’s head to force him away, instead, she was pushing him into her, but he refused to quicken his maddening pace.  
  


“I-I saw the box on my desk a few weeks ago, something like that.  He didn’t leave me a half-eaten chocolate frog, I was wrong about that.  He left a full one, but no note or anything.” Hermione shuddered, caught between thankful and infuriated that Draco had withdrawn his tongue.   
  


“Oh yeah?  Sounds like Ron.  Did he just leave you a fucking ring on your desk?”  Harry laughed and shook his head, but it was Draco who swallowed hard against her clammy thigh.   
  


“I took a peek at it.  Gods, he definitely had help choosing it.  It was the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen.”  Hermione’s entire body was throbbing and she jumped as high as the Sticking Charm would allow when Draco thrust two fingers into her sopping wet folds.   
  


“D’ya have it here?  I wanna see it.” Harry rested his elbows on the desk until Hermione leant forward and shoved him away.   
  


Harry smirked and was honestly a bit titillated to see Hermione reach into the top of her gown and remove a jewel-encrusted ring from her cleavage.  He shook his head when Hermione gasped and shakily slid it onto her finger. Harry was fairly certain he heard some sort of animal growl, but that would have been impossible.   
  


He studied the jewels carefully when Hermione extended her hand and it was then he knew something was wrong.  Harry knew Ron better than anyone did and there was nothing Ron hated more than green. It didn’t make a lick of sense that he would choose an engagement ring encrusted with diamonds and emeralds.   
  


“Why did I try it on?”  Hermione moaned and Harry thought perhaps she was lamenting her decision.  “It was so stupid of me. I-I couldn’t help it.” Hermione dropped her left hand into her lap and it was Draco Malfoy grasping her hand.   
  


She felt his fingers slowly withdraw, while her body protested, and Hermione was nearly positive she heard him an utter ‘ _ oh fuck’ _ , but she had to have been wrong.  She was deluded, absolutely hearing things.  It was the only logical explanation.   
  


Meanwhile, Harry stood abruptly and straightened his wrinkled dress robes.  He had to speak to Ron immediately. It was wrong, this was wrong. Everything was fucking wrong!   
  


“I’ve got to go.  It’s late. I’m--I’m drunk.”  Harry waved over his shoulder and vacated the office without another word.


	13. 13

 

_ My life is just a bunch of ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’ moments.  - Ron Weasley _

 

* * *

  
Draco closed his eyes and shook his head.  He wanted to shout at her, he didn’t, as the words stuck in his throat.  Instead, he propelled the chair backwards and gazed up at the blushing witch.  He could have been wrong, it had happened once or twice in his lifetime. The best way to know would be to test the theory.  There was no harm in that.

 

“Lower your dress.”  Draco Malfoy climbed out from beneath the desk and towered over Hermione.

 

“I don’t want to.”  Hermione whimpered, but Draco wasn’t listening to her words.

 

He was busy watching her hands glide over her flat stomach and draw down the top of her dress.  He watched her as she unfastened her strapless bra. He watched her eyes widen in horror as she realised she had done exactly as he had asked.

 

“Lay on the desk,”  Draco demanded with fire in his eyes.

 

“Can’t.  Sticking Charm.”  Hermione easily quipped, but she stood regardless.

 

Her slinky sequined dress dropped to the floor and she stood completely bare before her partner.  She frowned as her body was propelled forward and Draco was quick to fling the files from her desk.  Hermione reclined and stared at the ceiling. Her words and actions were not compatible at the moment and it was frustrating beyond measure.

 

Draco unbuckled his trousers and let them fall to the floor without preamble.  He stepped between her spread legs and tweaked a hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger.  He liked the way Hermione’s back arched, pushing her breasts toward him.

 

“I’m going to fuck you now.”  Draco breathed and watched her reaction.  “The compulsion to bend to my commands will end afterwards.”

 

He could have left her dangling there on the precipice of bliss, but he couldn’t be purposely cruel to her, not again.  He didn’t wish to revert. Of course, the ring explained everything. The only logical deduction was that Hermione had touched it upon opening the box that wasn’t meant for her.  She had stroked the stones and there was longing in her heart. The blasted Malfoy ring was goblin forged and adjusted to the needs of the witch and absolutely explained everything.

 

It explained his inexplicable need to bend her over his knee.  It explained his throbbing erection. It explained the lust he felt toward a woman he had fantasized shagging and he fervently hoped his wants would dissipate as well.  Of course, it didn’t explain his desires prior to the ring, but he wasn’t going to dwell upon such things.

 

“What is happening, Malfoy?”  Hermione covered her breasts with her hands, but such an action didn’t stop Draco from falling to his knees and burying his face between her legs.

 

He licked, sucked, nibbled, and stroked until she was writhing.  Draco wanted her to beg. He wanted to hear his given name fall from her plump lips as she begged him to fuck her.  He wanted to watch her come undone because of his tongue and that’s exactly what happened.

 

Hermione’s head lolled from side to side and her hips twitched.  Ron had never been one to engage in such acts, no matter if she was willing to pleasure him.  It had been maddening, but she had grown used to being left unfulfilled.

 

“Draco, dear gods, please,”  Hermione whined as she rode the high, nearing the top, and then it was exploding around her while her limbs quaked in relief.  “Wait…wait.”

 

“Can’t,”  Draco muttered.

 

“Please…wait.”  Hermione struggled to sit up and grasped his face in her hands.

 

“Granger—”  Draco growled low and his fingers dug painfully into her supple hips.

 

“I don’t—I don’t know what’s happening, but I feel it.  I feel it. I don’t want to stop but I can’t—I can’t do this now.  No, that’s not even accurate, I simply can’t do this  _ here _ .”  Hermione waved her hand toward the Ministry office and Draco nodded begrudgingly.

 

He didn’t gather their clothes or remove himself from between her thighs.  Instead, he gripped his wand with one hand and held firmly to Hermione’s waist with the other.  Draco hissed between his clenched teeth as he felt the slick heat graze his hardened cock.

 

Hermione yelped, locked her arms around his neck, clinging tightly, just as they squeezed together in Apparition.  She scrunched her eyes closed and willed her stomach to behave. She was never particularly fond of Apparition and Side-Along was so much worse.

 

“Better?”  Draco Malfoy teased her, his hands firmly grasping her waist.

 

His darkened grey eyes were locked on her plump lips and they widened when her tongue flitted forward and moistened them.  His entire body was humming with need. It was more than the magic of his ancestors. It was more than the bindings of some fucking ring.  It was the realisation that he had wanted her all along and finally, finally, he accepted it.

 

“W-where are we?”  Hermione squeaked nervously as Draco set her on the edge of the softest bed she’d ever touched.

 

“My flat, obviously.”  Draco towered over her and his closeness caused Hermione to retreat.

 

Hermione was achingly aware of her nudity and the predatory shine in the grey eyes staring down at her.  She held her breath as he climbed up her body with feather light touches to her ribs and the expanse between her breasts.

 

“Your curiosity is going to be the end of you, kitten.”  Draco’s tongue lapped the glaring white impression on Hermione’s throat.  “You’ve no idea what you’ve done.”

 

Hermione’s brows constricted, but he said nothing more.  Instead, he was quite intent upon exploring the naked witch beneath him.  His well-defined chest hovered over her breasts, teasing her as the ache between her thighs grew incredibly strong once more.  It was a simple matter for their lips to touch and Hermione lost every thought she’d ever had.

 

She dragged her short fingernails down the sinewy lines of his slick back.  Her hips involuntary flexed against the rigid length prodding her thigh, which caused Draco to release a guttural moan.  He tweaked her nipple in retaliation while he suckled her throat. It was torture holding off and he couldn’t any longer.

 

Draco eased his aching cock between her folds and sighed with relief.  Her body welcomed him, stretching to accommodate his size. Hermione moaned loudly and hissed while Draco rocked into her.  He withdrew just as slowly and teased her. He did enjoy teasing her. Hermione groaned when he was fully seated. She struggled with the pleasure, the pain, the acceptance, and hesitancy, all entwined together in confusion.

 

“So much for…waiting…until I’m married.”  Hermione muttered and Draco felt a pang of guilt for the barest hint of a moment.

 

“I was nearly certain you’d—I mean you were with Weasley,”  Draco sighed against her throat.

 

“I’ve done things, lots of things actually, except that one thing.  Hmm yes, that’s nice. It’s irrational, I know I just wanted to hold onto it until,”  Hermione faltered, caught between pleasure and emotional upheaval.

 

“Kitten,  there’s no need to fret.”  Draco caressed her cheek with absolute tenderness and their eyes met while he lazily thrust into her.  “You’re a Malfoy now.”

 

Draco sped his thrusts and gripped her hips, slamming her against him.  She was tight, so unbelievably tight and it aided in his pleasure, and hers.  He could feel her body tensing. He was certain Hermione could feel it as well, considering her brown eyes widened in surprise.  He covered her mark with eager lips and felt his sharpened teeth pierce her flesh just before she clamped down on him. 

 

Pinprick droplets of blood stung against his tongue and Draco paused.  He’d read about this. He’d studied this extensively and yet when the moment came, nothing was as they said it would be.  Their magic didn’t entwine. It didn’t fill the empty spaces between them. It didn’t meld their souls into one and he was disappointed.  Draco realised he wanted that, but for the moment, he was appeased by having her naked skin against his.

 

“What the hell does that mean?”  Hermione’s eyes rolled back and her skin felt hot as the waves of her pleasure rolled through her.

 

Draco suckled her breast and drew her legs around his waist.  He held her arse in his hands as the sweat broke across his brow.  He knew she was speaking, but the only thing he could hear was the slap of skin against skin until finally, finally, he groaned as he spilt into her.

 

“Not Weasley’s ring, kitten.”  Draco collapsed on her breasts and immediately set to tease her rosy nipples with a practised hand.  

 

“What?  It wasn’t Ron’s?  Then—“ Hermione winced as he withdrew and nibbled her throat.

 

“Mother sent the Contract and the ring in an attempt to force my hand.  She’s pressing for a summer wedding and I baulked. If I was forced to hazard a guess, I’d say my mother and Weasley colluded in this conniving little push.”  Draco held up Hermione’s left hand and kissed the back of it with a wink. 

 

Hermione silently contemplated her nudity as well as his words.  It was utterly unconscionable that Ron and Narcissa would plot together.  Ron wouldn’t do that to her. He cared about her and—

 

“Oh gods, he kept saying how well suited we were,”  she whispered as her world crashed down around her.

 

“Thanks for saving me from a lifetime of misery with Astoria Greengrass.”  Draco chuckled and caught her lips with his own, sucking lightly, “welcome to the family.”

 

* * *

 

He wished he were drunk.  He wished he were blindingly, ridiculously, stupid drunk.  He wished he were deaf as long as he was in the process of wishing things.  Deaf and drunk sounded like fucking nirvana, not that he believed in such things anyway.

 

“For the love of Merlin, shut the fuck up!”  He bellowed through the wall, not that it helped, not that they listened.

 

The squabbling, the incessant squabbling was going to be the end of him, the end of  _ them _ if they kept it up.  There was nothing he hated more than a gaggle of birds complaining.  The Aurors had been perfectly content at Grimmauld Place, but no, that wasn’t good enough for the Parkinson Princess.

 

“McLaggen, you’re being dramatic again,”  Nigel chortled happily from the safety of the doorjamb, ducking as a muscled arm swung in his direction.

 

“Someone needs to get Brown out of here before I forget I’m a wizard and strangle her.”  Cormac shoved his damp blond waves from his forehead and shoved his fingers in his ears to muffle the shrieks.

 

“Why are you here eh?”  

 

Nigel Wolpert, Junior Auror, thoroughly enjoyed the madness.  It broke up the boring humdrum of training scenarios and endless lectures on safety.  While it wasn’t exactly exciting protecting witches from the unknown, he did enjoy the view.

 

“You think I want to be here?  You think I enjoy listening to their caterwauling?  I’m here because I own the fucking building. I sublet it to a Squib and he’s a nervous sort.  He’s monstrous but fairly gentle and the Ministry believed the women would be safer in Muggle London.  I didn’t ask fucking questions. I’m being compensated handsomely, but I didn’t count on remaining behind while Potter and Smith did whatever the fuck it is they’re doing.”

 

Nigel shrugged and held his finger to his lips.  The angry sniping and snarls seemed to have quieted, which was of the utmost relief to the two wizards.  They knew they probably should have been concerned, the sudden quiet a glaring indication of something amiss.  However, Cormac wasn’t an Auror and secretly hoped they were all dead.

 

Neither man expected the scene before them.  Blouses, skirts, shoes, and underthings were haphazardly tossed around the modest bedchamber.  Three witches sat on narrow beds wrapped in fluffy towels eating chocolate frogs, of all things.

 

“I-I’ve never seen a naked witch,”  Nigel stammered, slightly hidden behind Cormac’s larger form.

 

“You still haven’t, but that could easily change if you stick around.”  Pansy licked her lips and winked saucily, her throaty laugh contagious as Nigel squirmed.

 

“I was fairly certain you were only interested in gingers, Parkinson.”  Ginny Weasley’s lip curled in distaste while she glared at the brunette witch.

 

“Suppose you’ve never heard of a Glamour?  McLaggen could be a lovely pretend Weasley,”  Pansy sighed with longing and even Cormac shifted uncomfortably beneath her penetrating stare.

 

“Now that Brown is gone, perhaps I can get a bit of sleep.  Why don’t you lot clear out? I’m absolutely knackered and I’ve really no interest in watching you flaunt your wares.”  Astoria Greengrass snarled and yanked the coverlet from the bottom of the bed, covered her towel-clad body, and flopped onto her side.

 

Ginny Weasley uncrossed her long legs, yanked a towel from her red tresses, and stood.  She ignored Cormac in favour of the deliciously younger wizard. She brushed her pale palm across the front of his trousers as she squeezed between them and padded down the corridor.

 

She knew Nigel would follow her, felt his eyes focused on the swing of her bum.  He was cute in a nervous, bumbling virgin sort of way, but she wasn’t going to shag him.  She’d tease him just enough for the poor wizard to spill in his trousers and that would be that.

 

It should be plenty of time for Pansy to manipulate Cormac into a shag.  Godric knew she’d listened to Parkinson critique each of their guards with entirely too many details.  Perhaps she could put her mouth to a use that didn’t involve actually speaking.

 

“You used to date Harry Potter,”  Nigel breathed the moment they stepped foot into the sitting room.

 

Ginny rolled her eyes and sat on the settee, her bare legs curled, her towel gaping just as she intended.  She flicked her dark red hair over her shoulder and licked her lips. It was fun to toy with Nigel. He was young and impressionable.  He was completely captivated by her exposed skin, innocent as it was.

 

“I used to do lots of things with Harry Potter,” she crooned.  “I could tell you all about them if you like, for a price.”

 

Nigel knew he was teetering on the edge of dereliction of duties, but when Ginny reclined on the settee he eagerly nodded his head.  He would have gladly given all his galleons just to see that blasted towel fall to the floor. He hastily shoved his blond waves from his forehead and squirmed on the coffee table as he leant forward, excitement racing through his veins.

 

“What do you need?”

 

“There’s a bottle of lotion on the side table near the window.  I can’t reach my back and could really use your assistance.” Ginny smiled slow, knowing she had him.

 

While Nigel scrambled over his own feet, Ginny loosened her towel, adjusted it, and flipped onto her stomach.  She folded her arms, propped her head on them, and waited. She knew he’d pepper her with questions and it made her feel powerful.

 

“W-where would you like me to start?”  Nigel’s voice shook as did his hands while he grappled with the strange Muggle bottle.

 

“It’s really up to you.  I’d suggest opening the towel first.  Work your way up or down, it doesn’t much matter either way.”

 

Nigel gulped and hesitantly reached across her for the ragged edge.  He slowly peeled open the towel and bit his lip. It was only a back, he knew that much, but her arse was near perfection.  He sort of wanted to grasp it with both hands and squeeze, but he didn’t.

 

He decided her shoulders were as good a place to start as any and spread the cool, white lotion across the sparse freckles.  She sighed, which encouraged him. It was a massage, he could do that much. It was easy, despite the twitch of his cock in his trousers.

 

He jumped when his fingers grazed the sides of her pale breasts and she moaned.  He wasn’t expecting that, not one bit, he liked it quite a bit. He skimmed his fingers down her ribs and across the small of her back, avoiding the curve of her bum.

 

“Don’t be afraid of my arse, Wolpert.  Harry always started there and strangely never really progressed anywhere else.”  

 

“Really?”

 

Ginny hummed and slowly spread her closed legs while Nigel sensually touched her bum.  She didn’t mind his inexperience. In fact, she found it endearing, even when his hands squeezed her arse more than massaged.

 

“Well,”  Ginny moaned, “that’s not entirely true.  Sometimes, when he massaged my thighs, he’d touch me until I came.  I quite liked that and afterwards, he’d shove his cock into me.” Ginny squirmed beneath the firm hands that prodded her thighs to spread further and whimpered when nervous Nigel stroked across her sex.

 

She was thrilled.  It hadn’t taken him long to catch on and while his fumbling was unsure, the gentle touches made her toes curl.  The shallow thrusts made her head spin and she gripped the arm of the settee as she pushed back against him, shuddering her release.

 

She didn’t know when he had climbed up behind her, nor did she care.  His weight on top of her was slightly uncomfortable, but she managed until his belt chafed against her skin.  She grunted, feeling smothered as greedy hands were shoved beneath her to maul her flattened breasts.

 

“Roll over,”  he hissed and insistently tugged on her shoulders as he straddled her.

 

Ginny knew from experience it was easier to do as she was told.  She didn’t believe Nigel to be the abusive sort, but she’d encountered entirely too many in the past.  She closed her eyes and listened to his belt strike the floor and tensed as his warm body was wedged between her thighs.

 

He’d given her an orgasm and her logic decreed the least she could do was allow him a shag.  He’d earned it. It wasn’t the first virginity she had taken and it wouldn’t be the last. At least he had nice hands, she mused, while her nipples were tweaked and tugged.

 

She gasped in pleasure when his lips covered her rigid peaks, his teeth teasing them.  She grasped his cock and eased it through her wet folds. He got the hint, just like she knew he would, and suddenly, she was exceedingly full of virginal cock.

 

Nigel grunted and thrust, harder than she expected, his hands still latched to her breasts.  His blond hair was stuck to his forehead, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, while he muttered under his breath.  He moaned, loud and long as he came. Ginny grimaced as he collapsed, thankful to be done with it.

  
  


* * *

 

Harry Potter hiccoughed and laughed as he fell out of the Floo.  He crawled across the hardwood floor, knees thumping loudly, green eyes bleary.  He swore he heard whispering, but that was ridiculous. It was entirely too late for visitors.

 

“You’re drunk.”  Luna tapped her foot angrily and glared at the crumpled wizard at her feet.

 

“No, I’m Harry!”  Harry tugged on Luna’s sparkling purple skirt and rested his clammy face against her delectable thighs.  “I-I’m also drunk, really, really drunk.”

 

Luna patted Harry’s head, highly amused by the obstinate dark hair that absolutely refused to lie flat.  She missed him terribly, not that she would tell him. He was conflicted, as evidenced by the Nargles constantly circling his head and she refused to add to his tension.

 

“Luna, is that Harry?”

 

Ron ambled from Luna’s kitchen, blue eyes squinting in the din as he munched a messy sandwich.  Slivers of meat and cheese fell from thick slabs of bread and he attempted to catch them before they struck the ground.  Instead, crumbs dangled from his gaping lips as Harry Potter crawled over to the fallen fare and licked it from the floor.

 

“Hey!”  Harry shouted.  “Hey, hey, hey Ron, uhm why are you here?  Are you uh are you fucking my girlfriend because I’ll kick your arse, not now cuz I can’t like feel my legs, but where’s my wand?”

 

“Cor, how much did you have to drink?”  Ron shoved the last bits of his sandwich into his cheeks and hefted Harry to his feet.

 

“Loads, it was, it was great.”  

 

“Where’s Lavender?”  Ron grunted as he tossed Harry onto Luna’s psychedelic sofa.

 

“Fuck who cares?”  Harry belched, completely mesmerized by his waggling fingers.  “She’s the worst. Maybe, maybe there’s a uh Chamber beneath the Ministry and and and a great sphinx ate her.  That’d be awesome.”

 

“Perhaps it would have been smarter to resist marrying her in the first place rather than wish for her death now.”  Luna angrily crossed her arms, but her temper didn’t faze Harry in the least.

 

Harry trilled and bared his teeth as he yanked Luna onto his lap.  Her tinkling laughter filled his ears and he held her just a bit tighter.  He really wanted to drag her off to the bedroom, but he couldn’t see straight, not to mention there was Ron.

 

“Marrying, yeah,” he mumbled.  “Mione’s got a ring, stuck it on her finger.  Sh-she said Ron did it but nope. Ron hates green because Slytherin, which is well sort of dumb, green is green and colours don’t care about houses.”

 

Luna locked eyes with Ron and straddled Harry’s lap in a desperate attempt to distract him.  The regal blonde witch stepped into the corridor, unseen by Harry since he was thoroughly focused on Luna’s breasts.  Ron ushered Narcissa to the Floo, feeling particularly giddy as far as his part in the subterfuge was concerned.

 

“Suffice it to say, our plan has worked perfectly thus far.  Draco will be difficult but then again, so will Ms Granger. It will be most interesting to watch it all unfold, won’t it, Mr Weasley?”

 

Narcissa averted her eyes from Harry’s voraciously wandering hands in order to preserve Luna’s waning modesty.  She was fond of the eclectic witch, yet hadn’t the slightest desire to see her nude. She also didn’t wish to hear the sounds, the terrible sounds, but one could only step into the Floo so quickly.

 

Ron nodded quickly and watched Narcissa disappear into the green flames.  He honestly couldn’t believe it had worked. Hermione was known for her inquisitive nature.  He was nearly positive she would have tracked him down and shouted at him before slipping a ring on her finger.

 

“Yes, just like that,”  Luna moaned.

 

Ron’s head whipped to the settee, blue eyes nearly bulging from his head.  He was really glad Luna’s skirt was covering Harry’s lap as it seemed Harry’s slacks were bunched at his ankles.  Ron gaped, unable to tear his eyes from the beautiful bouncing breasts. 

 

He was a bit hungry still and well, they were bloody exhibitionists.  It would have been rude to leave before the show was over, at least that’s what Ron told himself as he opened a package of crisps and sat on the armchair.

 

* * *

 

He watched, hidden behind a potted plant and a doorjamb.  The Weasley witch was a slag, everyone knew it. He recalled her young body, writhing and terrified beneath him, with a smile.  It was one of his favourite memories.

 

She was conflicted, he could see it in her eyes when he shagged her.  She was horrified by the basic mechanics of her own body and was probably humiliated by its responses, not that he cared.  He loved the way her mouth gaped open in a silent scream, the begging, the pleading, the hysterical no’s. It was a symphony to his ears and he couldn’t wait for more.

 

He flicked his wand, whispering a spell.  It was a little spell, barely noticeable, which really was perfect.  The Weasley girl shuddered and he smiled, his hand gripping the front of his trousers to relieve the tension.  The poor Wolpert boy would be none the wiser. 

 

It was perfect.  Everything was perfect.  He nearly shuddered in ecstasy.  They would pay. They would all pay.  He couldn’t wait to see their blood rain from the sky.

  
  



	14. 14

 

_Even after all these years, you’ve still got the emotional range of a teaspoon. – Hermione Granger_

* * *

 

“Research, yes that’s it. I just need to do a bit more research. There’s got to be an answer here somewhere.” Hermione Granger mumbled to herself and angrily shoved her hair into a haphazard ponytail.

 

The precarious tower of books teetered, but she steadied them with barely a glance. Harry and Ron knew better than to step foot into her quaint study, but her mumbling grew louder and they knew that never boded well for anyone. They jostled each other lightly, but it was Harry who finally strode forward.

 

“Hermione--”

 

“Get out, Harry.” Hermione pointed to the door, while nose deep in yet another tome.

 

“Why don’t you just tell us what happened?” Harry backed away slowly and leant against the doorjamb. “You’ve been locked in here for days. We’re your friends and we love you.”

 

Ron nodded encouragingly, but he hadn’t the slightest inclination to invade Hermione’s personal space. He had learned his lesson after years of finding himself flung against the wall. It wasn’t something he was anxious to revisit. Instead, he shrugged and made himself comfortable on Hermione’s settee.

 

“I had to Floo to the Ministry naked. NAKED!” Hermione shrieked.

 

“You still haven’t told us why,” Harry prodded.

 

“Why don’t tell you tell me why I saw you hunkered down in Naughty Nargles, Harry?” Hermione stabbed her quill through another bit of parchment and pretended it was Harry’s face.

 

“Th-that’s not important. You owled us for moral support and we’re trying here Hermione, but all you’ve done is shout at us,” Harry tried to look slightly intimidating yet he failed in the face of Hermione’s ire and retreated to safety.

 

"You've got another owl from Malfoy," Ron shouted from the safety of the sofa and spewed bits of meat and cheese onto the parchment. "He says if you don't answer him he's going to Apparate directly into your flat and set it ablaze. Wow, he's really angry."

Hermione groaned loudly and went so far as to smack her forehead against the hardwood of her desk. She didn’t want to deal with him. She wanted to avoid him. She wanted to research until there wasn’t a book left unread. One of them had to hold the answer to her freedom.

 

“He can’t. My wards are nearly impenetrable and they most definitely will not allow a sanctimonious pompous arse to venture into—” Hermione’s snort of irritation was disrupted by the recognisable pop of Apparition. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is absolutely ridiculous. He didn’t even wait for a proper reply! This is my home! I have neither the time nor the inclination to deal with his petulant, infuriating—”

 

“Come now love, there’s no need to be so disparaging to your husband.” Draco Malfoy sauntered into Hermione’s sitting room and dropped his cloak onto Ron’s head.

 

He ignored the narrowed green eyes and focused on the furious witch. She was absolutely glorious when she was angry and he wasn't afraid to admit to such things. He watched the way she stood from her desk and rounded it slowly. He smirked when he saw her wand firmly clenched in a white-knuckled fist.

 

“You are _not_ my _husband_!”

 

Harry interceded quickly. He knew exactly what Hermione was going to do and the last thing he wanted was to write a report detailing the Hexes cast between Ministry employees. He jumped forward, slammed the office door, and warded it as quickly as possible. As an afterthought, he Silenced it as well, but only after he winced at Hermione’s shriek.

 

“Malfoy, what the fuck are you doing here? She’ll kill you.” Harry held the door handle as an extra precaution, but he knew it wouldn’t hold long if Hermione was determined to escape.

 

“Do you honestly think I want to be here, Potter? I must speak with her. Do me a solid and uhm, keep Weasley from leaving, would you?” Draco roughly shoved Harry to the side and carefully dismantled the pesky wards upon the door.

 

He wasn’t the least bit surprised how easily he was able to remove them. Draco knew Potter always went for the easy and obvious, which allowed him an inside look into the man’s thought processes. He twisted the knob and quietly closed the door behind him.

 

“Get out, Harry.” Hermione’s head rested upon her desk and her twisted curls hid her from view.

 

Draco’s conscience twinged, at least that’s what he thought it was, as he heard the upset and defeat in her voice. He stepped forward quietly and rounded the desk with held breath. There was something utterly serene about seeing the usually composed Gryffindor succumb to the stresses of their situation.

 

His hands found their way to her shoulders, and Draco smirked when she sighed. His strong fingers worked the kinks from her tense muscles and it wasn’t long before Hermione had leant back in her chair. Her eyes were closed and his fingers were lost in her hair as he kneaded her neck.

 

Hermione hummed lightly and her pretty mauve lips parted. Draco’s grey eyes dropped to her cotton shirt and he swallowed hard. He had seen those nipples. He had felt them in his hands, tasted them even, and his slacks tightened considerably at the memory.

 

His fingertips teased her collarbone in small, soft strokes. The gooseflesh broke across her skin and while Hermione was remiss to admit it, the massage was quite sensual. She shifted slightly and it was then the hands dropped and covered her aching breasts.

 

“Harry! What the hell are you doing?!” Hermione’s dark eyes flew open and she grasped the hands mauling her chest.

 

She gasped as the lithe fingers twisted and pulled. Hermione arched her back and looked overhead to see the leering half smile of Draco Malfoy. Her thighs pressed together and she could smell her own arousal, which caused her to blush furiously.

 

“As if Potter would ever make you feel this way?” Draco chuckled and nonchalantly drew the cotton cream shirt off Hermione’s trembling body. “No bra, aren’t you a saucy minx?”

 

“Give me back my shirt, Malfoy.” Hermione crossed her arms over her bare breasts and quickly stood.

 

Draco kicked the chair from between them and grabbed the back of Hermione's neck. She yelped as he forced her face to the desk and kicked her feet apart. She shuddered as she felt the hot tongue along her spine and realised she was conflicted about her feelings on the matter.

 

“You don’t need it, kitten.” Draco wedged himself between her thighs and rocked into her gently. “First, I’m going to shag you, afterwards we’ll confront Weasley. Later, we’ll shower and dress in order to have dinner with my parents.”

 

“You’re mad. You’re absolutely mad. I am _not_ shagging you. We are _not_ showering. I am definitely _not_ having dinner with your parents!” Hermione squirmed against the hardwood of her desk, yet only succeeded in freeing her breast from the inkwell jabbed into the side of it.

 

“I love these strange little trousers you’re wearing. Oh, no knickers, kitten? You are a naughty, naughty girl.” Draco purred in her ear, his lips brushing the obvious puncture marks on Hermione’s neck.

 

“Stop undressing me!” Hermione’s cheeks blazed with embarrassment while Draco slid her loungewear off her hips and shoved them down her thighs.

 

Draco quickly disrobed. It amused him to see Hermione splayed across her desk. He felt powerful when she didn’t move, despite the fact he had released her. He liked the way his pale hands looked on her lightly tanned hips. He liked many things about her, but then she spoke and ruined everything.

 

"Do you really want me to stop?" Draco swiped across her sex ever so slowly and chuckled when his fingers came away moist.

 

“I want to understand.” Hermione finally pushed herself up from the desk and her cheeks were a wondrous shade of red as she averted her toffee eyes from his nudity.

 

“Are you always this difficult?” Draco’s fingers dug into her hips, and it was a simple matter to spin her ‘round and sit her on the desk. “You just had to try on the ring, didn’t you? You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” Draco sneered, but it wasn’t nearly as nasty as Hermione expected it to be.

 

“I-I…what are you doing?” Hermione bit her lip and dropped her eyes to the hardened cock between her thighs. Even she had to admit it was probably the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

 

“You obviously don’t listen. I’ve already informed you as to our itinerary. Could you be anymore maddening? On second thought, don’t answer that. You’ve always been an irritant.” Draco’s slow hiss segued into a stifled moan the moment he was completely seated within her.

 

“I don’t want to have sex with you. I definitely don’t want to marry you, and having any sort of meal with your parents is absolutely out of the question. Would you—would you get your penis out of me?!”

 

"Penis, really, Granger?" Draco chuckled and kept a careful eye on the flush spreading across Hermione's skin with his lazy thrusts. "It's a cock, and despite your words, you don't really want me to stop. You like it, I can tell. You bite your lip when something excites you."

 

“It’s a normal bodily response. You’re my partner and sometimes you’re not completely irritating, but I do not like you enough to do _this_ with you.” Hermione slammed her lips closed and gave forth a valiant effort to quell the moan, but she failed.

 

“Oh, I don’t like you. I _do_ like fucking you, I have to admit that, but on a personal level, I really just sort of want to smother you.” Draco forward and captured her lips in order to nip them lightly.

 

Hermione’s hands flew to his shoulders. She had no desire to recline upon her desk, despite the growing heat in her abdomen. It wasn’t long before she rocked with him and his thrusts sped with her participation. She met him thrust for thrust and her limbs tightened, even as the droplets of sweat slid between her bouncing breasts.

 

“I don’t like you either. You’re moody. You’re obstinate. You’re—oh my gods, right there. You’re unpleasant, and I don’t know why Ron puts up with you.” Hermione sunk her teeth into his shoulder in order to muffle the sounds of her release.

 

“I don’t know how _anyone_ puts up with you. Terrible sense of fashion, bossy little swot, but at least you’re pretty.” Draco nearly withdrew completely, only to flex his hips forward and fill her. There was something about her breathy little moans that set his skin on fire and knowing she was now his made him feel incredibly powerful.

 

“You think I’m pretty?” Hermione had long since given up pretending she wasn’t incredibly aroused, especially now that she felt the flutterings of release begin.

 

“Shut up.” Draco’s head dropped to the crux of her shoulder, relieved to feel her shatter around him. A few thrusts later, and he was grunting in her ear, as he held her slick body tightly against his.

 

"You said the compulsion would dissipate when we consummated the first go ‘round," Hermione whispered in his ear and caught the earlobe between her teeth.

 

Draco avoided her eyes as he searched the room for his discarded clothing. She winced as he withdrew, but that couldn't be helped. He tossed her his button-down shirt and slipped into his boxers.

 

"Come on, we've got to confront Weasley and shower. We've only two hours before dinner." Draco's hand held her elbow to steady her while she slipped on his shirt with a heavy frown.

 

“I can’t go out there like this, you’re mad. Wait, why do we have to confront Ron?” Hermione searched for her loungewear with narrowed eyes.

 

“I sort of uhm vanished the rest of your clothes. Don’t look at me like that. I’ll buy you all the hideous outfits you wish.” He moved toward the door and took his time removing the enchantments.

 

“You didn’t answer me, don’t think I didn’t notice.” She ignored his less than subtle dig at her wardrobe in order to return to the question at hand.

 

“Yeah uhm, I wasn’t compelled to shag you. I just wanted to. Can we go now?” Draco rolled his eyes heavenward and opened the door.

 

Hermione glanced down at the shirt she was wearing and closed her eyes. She was grateful it hung slightly passed her knees, but she still felt as though she was on display. She was conflicted. She was angry. She was confused, yet she was also incredibly satisfied.

 

With his hand firmly on the small of her back, they strode into the sitting room in complete silence. Draco’s hand curved around her hip, and he held her to his side. He didn’t much appreciate the way Potter was staring at Hermione and Draco wished to make his claim known.

 

"Weasley, Potter here told Granger something I find incredibly interesting. I'm going to pretend for a moment we're not friends. I don't murder my friends you see." Draco's grey eyes stared hard at Ron. "From my understanding, you told Potter you were planning on proposing to Granger. I find that very, very interesting considering you weren't dating at the time. Why would you tell him such a thing?"

 

“Wait,” Harry interrupted with a scratch of his dark hair, “I told Hermione that bit during the Ministry function. I might have been intoxicated, but I remember that much. How did you know that?” Harry’s first inclination was to accuse Hermione, but he couldn’t imagine a scenario where she would willingly confide in Malfoy.

 

"I was beneath the desk." Draco wiggled his eyebrows in quite the lascivious manner and smirked as the green-eyed wizard paled. "If you would answer the question, Weasley."

 

Ronald Weasley swallowed hard. He wasn't afraid of Draco Malfoy. They'd forged their strange friendship years before, but Hermione was another matter. He had visions of bat-shaped bogeys chasing him, yellow birds attacking him, and fists flying toward his face.

 

“Well, you see—” Ron paused and winced. “This is your fault!” He felt better, immensely better, as he allowed his angry words to flow forth. “You’re always telling me about the merits of being Slytherin, not to mention the two of you are always arguing. You row more often than Hermione and I ever did, which is stupid really. If you just took a moment, you’d see how bloody alike the two of you are. So yeah, I used some uh underhanded measures, so what?” Ron puffed out his chest angrily, but he was suddenly confident.

 

“Ron, what did you do?” Hermione twined her fingers with the ones at her waist, and the squeeze of reassurance calmed her growing ire.

 

Harry finally stopped pacing the sitting room and plunked down into a plaid armchair near the hearth. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea that the information he’d shared with Hermione had been manipulated. He might work side by side with Slytherins and Gryffindors alike, but after Dumbledore’s manipulations, it was quite the sore spot.

 

“I mentioned to Harry that I was considering proposing to Hermione. I was lying, obviously! Cor, I love her and all, but marry her? Definitely not, sorry Mione.” Ron offered a bashful shrug before he continued, “I knew Harry is the biggest gossip in existence, which was perfect. A few days prior Malfoy’s mum sent an owl with a ring. I had uhm, I had overheard Hermione and Harry laughing at my expense mind you, and so I left the ring on her desk. I most definitely did not know it would cause the two of you to shag like bunnies or anything.” Ron sighed with the happiness of relief and sunk into the comfortable pinstriped sofa.

 

“How did you know it was my mother’s owl?” Draco’s stormy eyes narrowed and he watched the way Weasley’s throat bobbed.

 

“Why—why would do that to me, to us?” Hermione’s knees weakened, and it was then she noticed it was Draco that kept her on her feet.

 

“You’re good for each other, you just don’t know it yet.” Ron closed his eyes as the weight of the world was lifted from his shoulders with his confession. “I also might have had a small conversation with Narcissa when Malfoy and I interrupted that tea.”

 

“Perhaps you should take Ronald with you to dinner with your parents. I’m sure he wouldn’t be against explaining to them why their only son is now committed to marrying a woman they consider to have dirty blood.” Hermione tapped her foot with her fire blazing in her eyes and Ron leapt from the sofa.

 

“What’s that Harry? Have dinner with you and Lavender? That sounds like a wonderful idea. Let’s go now! We should give these crazy kids some privacy, they’ve got a lot to do before they have dinner with the Malfoys.” Ron yanked Harry toward the Floo, and before Hermione could blink, they were gone in a puff of green smoke.

 

“Come on, Mrs Malfoy, we’ve got to ready ourselves. Dinner with the elder Malfoys is always a formal affair. I do hope you’ve something presentable in your wardrobe.” Draco tightened his hold on Hermione’s hand and guided her toward where he assumed her bedroom was located.

 

“I am not Mrs Malfoy yet and I never will be if I have any say about it and furthermore—”

 

“Yes, you are. You put on the ring, which Sealed the Contracts. The papers have already been magically submitted to the Ministry. The wedding itself will be a societal affair of the grandest proportions, but in the eyes of the Wizarding World, we’re already committed.” Draco huffed with irritation and flung open the door to her wardrobe.

 

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed and gnawed her fingernails. It was a dream. It wasn’t real. It was just some horrid dream and if she closed her eyes, counted to ten and opened them, everything would be fine. Except, she did that and nothing had changed. She was still sitting on the edge of her bed, with Draco Malfoy snarling at every dress he encountered, while she could feel the evidence of their sexual release on her thighs.

 

“I’m not living at the Manor.” Hermione’s knees knocked together at the very thought of stepping foot into the Manor, the idea of living there was unconscionable.

 

“Bloody hell Granger, even I don’t wish to live at the Manor. I’d never ask you to live there, and I barely tolerate you. Dinner is being held at the cottage anyway.” Draco called to her from her wardrobe, as he continued to discard most items as unacceptable. “You’ve loads of green for a Gryffindor.”

 

“I love green. I’ve always loved green. It has absolutely nothing to do with Houses or rivalries, or any such nonsense. It’s just a colour.” Hermione frowned at the frizzy hair that fell into her face and clamped her eyes shut. “We’re really stuck in this, aren’t we? This isn’t some horrid nightmare, and I’m not going to wake up in a cold sweat. I couldn't find a way to break the enchantments, to sever the Contract. I found loads of disgusting antiquated ways to turn one's spouse into a slave, bind their soul to yours, and various other stomach-churning spells, but there was absolutely no mention of the consequences of attempting to sever the ties that bind. Why is that, Malfoy?"

 

“You’re Muggle-born. Stop murdering me with your eyes, Granger. It’s not an insult, it’s a fact. I’m Sacred Twenty-Eight. There are numerous dusty old tomes that detail the specific rules and I’d show them to you, but I can’t. They’re Cursed with such Dark Magic, even I wouldn’t touch them. The Ministry confiscated most, if not all of them, and I don’t even blame them. They were positively, disgustingly, medieval.” Draco plucked a garment bag from the back of the wardrobe and unzipped it carefully. He perused the gown slowly, and with a nod, he finally ventured back into the bedroom. “A Betrothal Contract hasn’t been severed in centuries. Sure, some were magically severed, but that was only due to death of one of the parties. Even then, the witch or wizard was forced to adhere to the rules of proper mourning, which when left unspecified, had the potential to last a lifetime.”

 

“That’s…that’s cruel.” Hermione crossed her semi-toned legs at the knee and bounced her foot while she spun a curl around her forefinger. “What are the consequences if we,” she paused, “let’s just say we decide not to adhere to the contract. Let’s say we decide to delay the proper ceremony and continue on with our lives and Malfoy, why are you shaking your head? I haven’t finished.” Hermione huffed with indignation, and Draco braced himself for yet another fascinating lecture, that didn’t come.

 

Draco chanced her wrath and sat beside the nettled witch on the edge of the four-poster bed. If it had been anyone else, he probably would have placed a comforting hand on her knee, but Draco was particularly attached to his limbs and therefore abstained. He took a long slow breath and was thankful she allowed him a reprieve from her incessant chatter.

 

“The original Betrothal Contract was written with Astoria Greengrass in mind. She’s alright I suppose, as far as pureblood witches are concerned, but she wasn’t my choice. She’s a bit spoilt, to put it mildly. Her father is the sort to bend to her every whim, which doesn’t help matters.” Draco rubbed the back of his neck and avoided the curious cinnamon eyes hanging on his every word. “It catered to her, the Contract, which is part of the reason I was remiss to sign it. I always knew I would be Arranged, but I had these hopes that my parents wouldn’t move forward rather than…it doesn’t matter.”

 

“You thought they’d allow you to choose your own bride.” Hermione supplied the words he was unwilling to say and his slow nod only solidified her thoughts on the matter. “What are the conditions? I’m guessing the Contract only altered the names of the parties and the particulars remained the same. I suppose there would also be ramifications for refusals, so tell me, Malfoy. What should I expect?” Hermione’s fingers itched with the need to hastily scribble notes on parchment, but as difficult as it was, she remained still.

 

Draco didn’t wish to waste precious time detailing every line of the Contract. He wanted to force her into the bloody shower and do something with that mess she called hair. He also knew Hermione Granger would be much more compliant if she was provided at least some of the details. He hoped it would appease her.

 

“The basics of any Contract I suppose, but not as iron clad in some respects. An heir is expected, obviously, and the sooner the better, at least according to the Contract. If uhm, if we were unable to produce a living child, the marriage would be dissolved after the passing of five years—”

 

“That’s not as bad as I expected and easy enough to rectify. We’ll simply--” Hermione brightened considerably, but Draco was quick to interrupt and correct.

 

“No, Granger, you misunderstand. If we’re medically unable to produce an heir, not if we’re stubbornly refusing to do so, there is a difference and it was meticulously documented. I suspect my mother had something to do with that, as she well knows my aversion to being Arranged in the first place.” Draco almost felt sorry for Hermione, especially as he watched the light of excitement dull in her eyes and her shoulders slump.

 

“Go on then.” Her voice broke, and Draco’s hand patted her knee. It was awkward, but she appreciated the small gesture.

 

“Astoria demanded we reside at the Manor. She wanted the prestige, but I drew the line on such concessions. We have numerous properties throughout the UK, as well as holiday properties. The final decision lies with you now, though I would hope you’d take my opinions into consideration. Ordinarily, it would be my mother taking you to visit each property, however, I believe it’s in our best interests if I take over that particular task. We’ll require a primary residence, and one for holiday.

 

‘Astoria made it clear that she would not be giving up her…lovers, for lack of a better term, and extended the same courtesies to me. Unless we’re coming together for the sake of procreation, we would each lead our separate lives. There are various other things, such as; the number of children, which is somewhat negotiable, weekly teas with my mother, family dinners once per month, numerous charity functions, garden parties, wardrobe allowance, decorating allowance, and things of that nature. You can have your solicitor look over the Contract, once my parents furnish you with a copy.”

 

“You’re going to cheat on me?” Hermione pushed his hand off her lap and sputtered as she vacated her bedroom, in favour of running the shower.

 

She mumbled to herself while she waited for the water to heat. She yanked clean towels from the cubby near the sink and resisted the urge to slam them to the counter. Hermione tried to rein in her anger, but it was difficult to do with the incredible amounts of information thrust toward her.

 

“Granger, that’s not what I was saying, but even you have to admit we clash—” Draco burst into the bathroom just as Hermione dropped his shirt from her shoulders.

 

She ignored him to step into the steamy waters and silently hoped he’d leave. She closed her eyes as the soothing heat worked the kinks from her shoulders and soaked her heavy hair. It was mechanical, second nature even, as she reached for the bottle of conditioner Hermione’s strangled yelp as she struck hard flesh echoed in the small space.

 

“Get out of my shower.” She spun quickly and nearly toppled over.

 

"You're always shouting at me. I didn't force the fucking ring on your finger. Hell, I didn't put the fucking ring on your desk in the first place. I didn't insinuate that I was going to cheat on you, or anyone for that matter. I was simply informing you as to the caveats in the Contract." Draco poured a liberal amount of conditioner into his large hand and dropped it onto the top of Hermione's head. "I'm a Malfoy as my father before me and his before him. We might be arrogant bastards, but we're not particularly fond of infidelity. My mother nearly had a case of the vapours when Astoria demanded the removal of the Fidelity Clause. I can't say I'm looking forward to spending my life with you, but even I have to admit it’s better than being shackled to a self-proclaimed slag.”

 

“My lifelong dream has always been to disrupt the incestuous lines of Purebloods, haven’t you realised that by now? I was simply biding my time until I could solidify my place in misery. There’s nothing better than knowing my husband’s family won’t waste a moment in their insidious plans to dispose of me. I won’t manage a wink of sleep and I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if I commissioned a private room in the Janus Thickey Ward, but it doesn't matter at all because Draco Malfoy has to be shackled to Mudblood Granger and his happiness is above all!” Hermione sobbed then.

 

She didn’t know whether the waters streaming down her cheeks were her tears or the shower spray. She mentally cursed Ron and plotted for the moment she’d find him alone. Hermione was startled by Draco's brooding silence, but she was still uncomfortable with his close proximity. She wanted to shout at him a bit more, but it wasn't his fault any more than it was hers. They were simply pawns in a superbly played game of chess.

 

“We could kill him. Would you like me to kill him for you, Granger?” Draco scratched her scalp, which elicited a moan from the trembling witch.

 

“Killing Ron will not solve anything, Malfoy.” Hermione bit her lip to keep from lecturing him on the consequences of committing murder.

 

“It would make us feel better.” Draco huffed and forced Hermione beneath the spray.

 

He concentrated on rinsing the mop of curls upon her head and was only satisfied when they hung down her back in soaked spirals. He had to admit Hermione was quite fit and her curves were nothing to scoff at, however, he still detested the idea of being forced into a relationship with her. They worked well together, but the constant barbing was not something he wanted for his home life.  

 

Draco washed as quickly as humanly possible. A bout of nerves set in as he realised he was going to bring Hermione Granger to speak with his parents. It didn’t help that she bent at the waist to scrub her legs and offered him a delectable view of her round arse. He had lascivious thoughts of shagging her senseless against the blue tiled wall, but he hadn’t the time.

 

They vacated the shower in silence. They dressed in silence, but the tension was thick in the air. Hermione struggled to find the perfect shoes for the gown Draco had insisted upon and nearly made them late. In the end, she decided upon a shimmering pair of strappy silver heels, which complemented the deep green of her gown, but sported Slytherin colours, as well.

 

“Am I presentable enough for Lord and Lady Malfoy?” The bite to her words was unintentional and yet she couldn’t take them back.

 

Draco’s grey eyes roved over her slowly and Hermione felt the heat in her cheeks from his perusal. The décolletage of the gown was modest, yet it still showcased the gentle, creamy swell of her cleavage. The dark shade of green accented her eyes, not to mention the fact it clung to her every dip and curve.

 

She turned on her heel to glance into the mirror above her bureau and Draco sucked his breaths between his teeth. The gown was nearly backless and his fingers itched to touch her smooth skin. She was going to be the death of him, but at that particular moment, he didn’t seem to mind.

 

“Your hair,” Draco paused. “The mark needs to be exposed. Have you noticed the way it lightened? It had darkened to a deep shade of grey, but once we uh—“

 

“Shagged” Hermione supplied.

 

“Once we consummated the call of magic, it lightened back to its original hue. Even you have to admit it’s an interesting bit of magic. I suspect between the ring and whatever the fuck Veela Tendencies are, we were quite supremely…fucked.” Draco quite liked the way her dark curls cascaded down her bare back, but he didn’t want his father to murder the girl. “Trust me,” he murmured while he carefully twisted Hermione’s hair and dropped it over her left shoulder.

 

Hermione stood eerily still, even as his fingertips brushed her shoulder. She listened as he fumbled through the wooden box on her bureau, and held her breath as he smoothly adhered a hair clasp near the base of her neck. She stiffened when Draco’s thumb lightly grazed the mark on her nape, but then it was gone.

 

“I’m afraid the strap for my wand is visible.” Hermione glanced at the long slit that bared a glimpse of her thigh in trepidation.

 

“I’d suggest you leave it behind, but I’m not stupid. Come on then.” Draco adjusted the black bow tie of his dress robes and offered his arm. As they slowly walked toward the Floo, he cleared his throat a half dozen times before he pulled Hermione into his chest. “Forgive me, but we’ve got quite the show to put on tonight if we wish to escape unscathed.”

 

“Whatever do you mean, Malfoy?” Hermione’s lightly tanned hand reflexively stroked the crisp white shirt peeking beneath his cloak.

 

"My parents are only aware the Betrothal Contract was filed with the Ministry. The particulars weren't provided. I've been summoned and instructed to procure my fiancée. I might have insinuated we were, uh what I mean to say is—” Draco scratched the back of his neck in nervousness, and Hermione could feel his rapid heartbeat beneath her palm.

 

“They don’t know it’s me, do they? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” Hermione stared into the pensive grey eyes and saw the truth of the matter. “This is a disaster.”

 

“It gets worse. The Greengrass family will be in attendance as well.” Draco stretched forward and grasped a handful of Floo powder from the pewter dish on the mantle. “I’m absolutely positive my mother knows more than she lets on. From what Weasley said it seems those two were heavy in the plotting and decided we simply required a little push in order to live happily ever after or some such rot.”

 

Draco nudged Hermione toward the Floo. She had closed her eyes, and he understood her consternation quite well. The last thing he wished to do was attend an uncomfortable dinner with his parents, but when the Patriarch demands your presence, one does not deny the request.

 

“Anything else?” Hermione’s brown painted lips were smashed together in upset and Draco knew their row would be explosive.

 

“I told them we were in love.” Draco hastily tossed the powder into the Floo and Hermione yelped as they were whisked away to their destination.


	15. 15

_ At least Voldemort hugged me.  It’s more than my father ever did.  — Draco Malfoy  
_

* * *

__

 

Hermione stumbled from the Floo and it was Draco that kept her upright, despite her obvious ire.  He was thankful they arrived in an empty Travelling Room, but he knew it would only be a few moments before his parents sent an elf to retrieve them.  He clutched her to his chest and avoided the mark that shimmered in the reflection behind them.

 

“Please don’t make a scene, not here, not now.”  Draco murmured against her cheek, “you can shout at me all you like afterwards.”  

 

The logical portion of Hermione realised he was absolutely right.  It wouldn’t do to cause a scene in his parent’s home, especially under the current circumstances.  They needed to present a united front, however, the idea of pretending to be in love with the wizard that drove her barmy was going to prove difficult.  At least that was her belief on the matter, until he kissed her.

 

Hermione was startled by the warm lips that covered hers and more so by the firm hand between her shoulder blades and the other, low on her back.  Her first instinct was to struggle, but he held her so tightly, it was near impossible. The stiffness in her shoulders retreated and her soft, unfettered breasts pressed against his chest, eliciting a low moan.

 

Narcissa Malfoy took it upon herself to retrieve her son and managed to curtail her excitement.  It would never do to present the couple with showy smiles and gay laughter. She schooled her features and inhaled deeply.

 

She paused near the entrance to the Travelling Room as she caught their reflection in the ornate gold mirror above the Floo.  Narcissa was unable to see the witch’s face, but she was quite aware of the fact her son’s hand was stroking bare thigh just before he cupped the witch’s bottom through the risqué slit of the green gown.

 

“We can’t, not here, not now.”  The words were spoken in a strangled whisper, yet Narcissa noted the witch did nothing to cease her son’s attentions.  “What are you doing to me?” It seemed the poor girl was distressed by her body’s reactions, and Narcissa had no desire to see her son ravish the girl.

 

She retreated as silently as she arrived and bumped into her husband.  Lucius glared over his wife’s shoulder, displeased with Draco’s inability to control himself.  He had to admit he was also proud of the boy for securing a lovely woman. From his vantage point, the witch had a firm, round derrière, and he knew his son’s affinity for such things.  Lucius smothered his disdain however when he heard the tell-tale sounds of moans.

 

“He hasn’t the slightest modicum of propriety.”  Lucius hissed as he latched onto his wife’s elbow and led her a safe distance from the Travelling Room.

 

“Lucius, don’t be such a prude.  You weren’t much better when we were young.  In fact, if I recall correctly, you marked me and shagged me against the wall of my parent’s sitting room.”  Narcissa patted her husband’s cheek as the fond memory brought a smile to her rose lips.

 

“It couldn’t be helped.  The Veela tendencies cause an uncontrollable need to have relations with your chosen until she’s rounded with child.”  Lucius scoffed with indifference, yet his grey eyes narrowed in understanding. “He’s marked the witch, obviously. He said resolutely no less, the woman in question was not Hermione Granger, and he’s gone off and—” Narcissa pressed her forefinger against her husband’s parted lips with a small shake of her head and kept her knowledge to herself.

 

“It’s his life.  Come along, we’ll allow them a few more moments of privacy, and then we’ll simply send Sméagol to retrieve our libidinous son and his witch.”  Narcissa smoothed her hands down the front of her silver robes and led Lucius to a small sitting room down the corridor.

 

Hermione’s knees were quaking and it was Draco’s strong arms that kept her aloft.  Draco had stroked her arse cheeks before he caressed the damp fabric of her silk knickers.  It was a simple matter to shove them aside and tease her sodden nether lips. The feather-light touch was maddening, which was exactly Draco’s goal.

 

“I need you to touch me, kitten.”  His teeth grazed the stark white mark and Hermione shuddered.

 

He grasped the hand at his neck and drew it slowly between them, while he suckled at her throat.  He wrapped her small hand around his achingly hard cock and rocked to and fro, as he sought to relieve the tension.  The feel of her hand against him, her palm rubbing the head of his cock nearly brought him to his end.

 

“I need to be in you.”  Draco pulled his witch toward the small settee in the corner and hastily shoved her gown over her hips.

 

Hermione was long passed the ability to argue with him.  The magic humming in her mark made her feel reckless. She straddled his bare thighs and with his guidance, sunk onto his throbbing cock.  She bit her lip and gasped at the sensation of feeling him so deeply within her. Draco’s insistent hands aided her rise and fall against him.  

 

He freed her breasts carefully, so as not to tear the delicate ties on her shoulder, hidden beneath the wide draped chiffon of her gown.  He was mesmerized by the sight of Hermione’s pink flushed breasts bouncing near his face and quickly caught a dusky nipple between his teeth.  Hermione’s strangled moan against his ear nearly set him over the edge, but it was she who was sent careening off the edge of the cliff first.

 

“I can’t—” She gasped, and he could feel her legs trembling against his thighs.  Draco held her hips and thrust upwards hard and fast until he spilt into her with a great groan of relief.

 

Hermione was incredibly conflicted by their encounter and the simple fact Draco held her against his chest for a few moments only aided in the cloudiness muddling her thoughts.  He kissed the tender skin between her shoulder and neck, just before he held her face in his hands.

 

“You are going to look marvellous when you’re round with my child, kitten.”  Draco wasn’t absolutely certain why he had uttered such words, but the thought pleased him immensely.

 

“You’re ridiculous, that’s not happening.  We’re simply going to petition the Minister for Magic and considering our relationship with Shacklebolt, he won’t waste any time in vacating this accidental engagement.”  Hermione sounded quite sure of herself as she climbed off Draco’s naked thighs and adjusted her gown. She flicked her wand and a simple  _ Scourgify _ cleaned them right up.

 

“For being an utterly brilliant woman, you’re not particularly bright when it comes to Pureblood Traditions.  I’d explain them to you, but we’re already late. There’s actually a book in the main library, I’ll ask Sméagol to fetch it after dinner.  Suffice it to say, it’s not merely our so-called accidental engagement that’s the issue, my blood has chosen  _ you _ and the sooner you accept it, the better.”  Draco slid on his black trousers and counted to ten in Latin, Italian, and French, while Hermione righted her gown.

 

“Sméagol?  Seriously, Malfoy?”  Hermione hated the way her body naturally leant toward his, yet further thought was interrupted by the appearance of a terribly grey house elf.

 

“Mistress wishes Sméagol to direct Master Draco and guest to dinner.”  The elderly house elf coughed a few times but managed to bow low and deep.

 

“Thank you.  Don’t even start, Granger.”  Draco grasped Hermione’s hand, kissed her cheek, and led her to the formal dining room of the Malfoy Cottage.

 

The silence was deafening.  The subtle, polite conversations ebbed the moment Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger stepped into the grand dining room.  Hermione’s large brown eyes lightly touched each guest and her heart quickened with every realisation.

 

Draco entwined their fingers and carefully obscured the glaringly obvious jewel encrusted ring on her finger.  Hermione felt the ring shift and was thankful for his manoeuvres. They hesitated as they neared the dining table.

 

The places were set impeccably as always, yet that wasn’t the issue.  It seemed the Patriarch of the Greengrass family decreed it was in his family’s best interest to have their daughters in attendance as well.  The young Astoria Greengrass sneered nastily at Hermione, but Daphne offered a small, friendly smile.

 

Draco knew his father and knew him well.  The last two empty seats were a test. The seat he normally occupied near his father’s right hand was vacant, yet beside that space was Astoria.  The only empty chair was placed between Mr Greengrass and his wife, which would never do.

 

“Father.  Mother.” Draco nodded in deference to his parents and escorted Hermione around the oblong table with a hand at her waist and another holding her left.  She glanced at him questioningly, but his lips were in a firm line, which begged silence.

 

“Draco, darling, you remember the Greengrasses, don’t you?”  Narcissa’s bright blue eyes were dancing with amusement, though she maintained her sophistication with an elegant gesture toward her guests.

 

“Of course Mother.  Marguerite, lovely to see you.  Johnathan, hope you’re well.” Draco offered a tight smile that did not reach his eyes.  “I’m sure you’re well acquainted with Hermione Granger.”

 

“Pleasure.”  Hermione semi-curtsied, which Draco found adorable, strangely, yet he quickly returned to the task at hand.

 

“Astoria, it would be rude of me to ask Ms Granger to sit wedged between your parents.  I’d hate to make my guest comfortable. You wouldn’t mind, would you?” Draco held the irate gaze of the blonde witch and refused to yield.

 

Astoria Greengrass tossed her light hair over her shoulder and stood with a glower.  She marched her way around the table and flounced between her parents without the slightest bit of finesse.  She crossed her arms beneath her bosom, much like a petulant child, and her father was quick to soothe her ire with muted whispers.

 

Draco brushed the invisible dust or what have you from the pinstriped cushion and sat Hermione in silence.  The tension was palpable when he kissed her knuckles and took his place beside her. He lifted his water goblet in a silent salute to his father and took a small sip.

 

“Fashionably late does not apply when one is summoned by their father.”  Lucius Malfoy sniffed haughtily and calmly sipped from the crystal tumbler filled with Ogden’s Finest.

 

“My apologies.”  Draco casually dropped his arm across the back of Hermione’s chair and shrugged.

 

As for Narcissa, she ignored the banter between her husband and son, in order to summon the house elves.  The delightful creatures carried silver platters and paused beside their Mistress while they waited for her approval.  Once they received the nod, the platters were delicately floated to the centre of the table.

 

Hermione studied the little brown creatures with their ridiculously sized ears and bulbous eyes.  She was pleased to note the elves wore freshly starched linens and smiled when consommé was ladled into her bowl.  The female elf faltered when she dared to look up.

 

“Miss Mimi!”  The elf gasped and nearly dropped the serving bowl in her excitement.

 

“Jillie?”  Hermione peered at the elf with a furrow to her brow.

 

“Miss Mimi, remembers Jillie!”  The elf squeaked with delight, yet dutifully lowered her head when Lucius grunted in displeasure.

 

“I’m sorry.”  Hermione carefully addressed Lucius as Draco gently squeezed her shoulder.

 

“Ms Granger, I shall make allowances for you, as it is obvious from your upbringing you were not instructed it was uncouth to address the help.”  Lucius smiled, yet it was filled with derision.

 

Astoria tittered into her linen napkin and sipped her white wine in amusement.  She had faith in her father. She knew he would fix this mess. It aided her ease to know Lucius Malfoy detested the Muggle-born witch as well.

 

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I am insanely curious to know how you’re acquainted with Draco’s elf.  Would you care to share, Ms Granger?” Narcissa tented her fingers over her soup bowl. Her blue eyes flicked toward her husband and there was warning in them, which was the only reason he remained silent.

 

“She’s yours?”  Hermione turned to Draco, and he offered a small half smile just before he dipped his head to kiss her cheek.

 

“I’m quite interested as well.”  Daphne Greengrass fluffed her long dark red strands and toyed with the blue velvet draped across her knees.

 

“It’s lovely to see you, Daphne, it’s been awhile.  I always enjoyed our lunches.” Hermione blinked slowly and took a moment to compose herself.

 

“Yes, well, Daddy has been an absolute irritant in his quest to find his daughters an acceptable match.  It’s been quite a bore really, you should see the trolls he’s pranced before me. Apparently, the idea of marrying for love is for others, but never for us.  I’d absolutely adore a lunch. I must apologise for not responding to your owls. My sister nicked them for ages. We’re not speaking at the moment, I’m sure you understand, especially after we were ensconced in Grimmauld Place.”  Daphne wiggled her fingers in her sister’s direction and even Hermione smiled.

 

“Daphne, that is quite enough.”  Johnathan Greengrass hefted his large form forward and slammed his meaty fist onto the mahogany.  His reddish blond hair fell into his eyes and his wife was quick to stroke his arm.

 

“Granger here worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for a bit before she became an Auror.  Fresh out of Hogwarts, sunshine and rainbows dancing in her eyes, and uhm Jillie here was an abused elf. No one else would have her after Granger filled her little head with thoughts of payment and proper clothes.”  Draco patted Jillie’s lumpy head affectionately, and she preened under the attention.

 

“I thought I was helping her, Malfoy.”

 

“I know, love.”  Draco rolled his eyes and turned his attention back toward his mother.  “I might not be a bleeding heart Gryffindor or anything, but Jillie was a bit pathetic, so I brought her home and that’s that.  Now, perhaps you’d like to explain to me why we’re here dining with the Greengrasses, no offence, Daphne.”

 

“You are being absolutely ridiculous, Draco Malfoy!  This was supposed to be it! This was supposed to be our evening!  Tomorrow the Prophet was going to be decorated with our pictures and the news of our wedding, but you’ve gone and ruined it all!”  Astoria allowed her cutlery to fall through her fingers and the sound of it clattering against the china was excruciating. “Daddy, fix it.  The Mudblood stole him from me.” She burst into faux tears and Johnathan was quick to wrap his arms around his little girl.

 

Draco ignored the theatrics and attended to his consommé.  He plucked a delectable soft roll from a passing elf and slathered it with butter.  He pointed his butter knife at Astoria and chewed thoughtfully.

 

“First, don’t use that word in my presence ever again.  Second, she didn’t steal anything from you. I was never yours in the first place.  Third, even if I did choose you, which was never going to happen, I never would have given you my grandmother’s ring.  It’s a bloody binding ring and you annoy me by doing simple things, like breathing. The idea of being bound to you is nearly worse than the year the Dark Lord lived in my home.”  Draco dropped his butter knife and poured Hermione a glass of white and thrust it into her hands. “Granger, have some wine, you look a bit shaky.”

 

Astoria’s lips firmly clamped together.  Her cheeks blossomed into a lovely shade of pink.  Her fingernails dug into her fleshy thighs beneath the table and for a singular moment, she wished Draco Malfoy would drop dead.  He had ruined her hopes and dreams. At one time, they had been friends, quite close friends, and she closed her eyes as she felt it all wash away into nothingness.

 

“Johnathan, the Ministry has already recorded the Betrothal, though they were most unwilling to reveal the witch’s identity.  Considering the fact my son bequeathed a family heirloom, there is nothing more to be done. I’m sure Lucius will compensate you for your imagined losses, and we’ll simply move on with our lives.  It’s all for the best really.” Narcissa pursed her lips in some semblance of a faux smile in the face of her lie and sipped her wine.

 

Draco paused with a spoon hovering near his lips in order to arch an eyebrow toward his mother. He appreciated her accepting attitude, as far as he knew, it was her fault they were in the midst of such a conundrum in the first place.  He managed to school his features when she easily lied to the Greengrasses. He wasn’t the sort of man to confront his parents in front of guests. It would have been ridiculously uncouth.

 

“I think it would be best if we took our leave.  Our apologies for interrupting a…family occasion.”  

 

Johnathan Greengrass stood and Marguerite followed suit.  Marguerite grasped her younger daughter by the elbow and forced the poor girl to stand under protest.  Astoria attempted to throw her linen napkin at Draco, but it simply landed in her bowl of consommé.

 

“Daphne.”  Marguerite patted her faux blonde coif and soft-spoken words were a relief when faced with Johnathan’s ire.

 

“I’d rather like to stay, if that’s all right with Mrs Malfoy.”  Daphne’s shy smile melted most of the tension in the room.

 

“Of course my dear.”  Narcissa airily waved her hand in easy acceptance.

 

“I won’t ask again.”  Johnathan’s jowls jiggled as his fist clenched.

 

“I’m so glad.  It would be a shame if I were to let a few well-kept family secrets spout from my lips as I was dragged  _ ahem _ most unwillingly from Malfoy Cottage.  I suppose the Daily Prophet would be forced to print them, as we know Astoria couldn’t resist sending her good friend Rita Skeeter an owl.  I suppose the best recourse would be for me to remain behind as I have imbibed quite a few glasses of wine. I would hate to bring my family to its knees.”  Daphne tsked lightly, but her gaze never wavered.

 

“Well done.”  Hermione murmured as she suddenly found herself intrigued by the wine glass desperately clutched in her trembling hands.

 

As for Johnathan and Marguerite, they dragged their younger daughter toward the Travelling Room without another word, which was probably for the best.  The silence upon their departure was only broken by the sound of Lucius Malfoy swirling the ice cubes in his empty tumbler.

 

“Wedding planning!”  Narcissa Malfoy squealed in such a way it was reminiscent of a teenage girl.

 

“I’m not nearly intoxicated enough for this, Sweetheart.”  Lucius Malfoy drawled in the way only a Malfoy could, as an exceedingly tiny house elf popped to his side.  She took his empty tumbler and refilled it without a word.

 

“Wedding plans?”  Draco was utterly aghast at his father’s easy acceptance, “you’re not  _ angry _ with me?  I expected a bit of a row if I’m being honest.”

 

“Hmm yes, a row sounds decidedly vulgar.  Draco, listen to your mother. I suppose this is where I’m supposed to welcome Ms Granger to the family.  Instead, I’m going to retire. Sweetheart!” Lucius stumbled to his feet and zigzagged his way from the dining room with the tiny elf in a pink tutu, trailing close behind.

 

“Draco, you’re an adult.  If you wish to marry Ms Granger, who am I to stand in your way?”  Narcissa’s clear blue eyes twinkled with mirth and knowledge.

 

“Y-you think I did this to myself?!  I know you did this! I want you to admit it!”  Draco shoved away from the table as quickly as humanly possible and didn’t even flinch when his chair clattered to the wayside.  “She’s—she’s—” he sputtered as he righted his chair before he finally segued into silence.

 

“She’s your fiancée.  Now,” Narcissa clapped her hands together and completely ignored Hermione’s gaping lips.  “I’ve always dreamt of a society wedding, but such things take time, and we haven’t really much to spare.”

 

Hermione simply stared at the Matriarch in utter and complete disbelief.  She shook her head and blinked heavily, yet the scene had not changed. Narcissa Malfoy was still looking at her expectantly, and Hermione hadn’t the slightest idea how to respond.

 

“I-I,” Hermione took a cleansing breath and channelled that elusive bit of calm, which was hidden away in the recesses of her thoughts.  “I hadn’t given it much thought honestly. I suppose I had assumed the Betrothal would be annulled once it was discovered that it was not solidified with Astoria Greengrass.”

 

Draco snarled angrily and squeezed Hermione’s shoulder in warning.  He knew better than to manhandle a witch in front of his mother, or at all, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t sorely tempted.  The idea of being forced to marry Hermione Granger of all witches was enough to drive a man to drink.  His stubbornness refused to allow him to accept the simple fact he wanted her.  He always wanted her.  She belonged to him, with him, but damned if he was going to admit that to his mother.

 

“Draco, perhaps it would be best if you retired to the study with your father.”  Narcissa gestured with a quick hand flutter. He offered a curt nod, but his mother’s voice was quickly calling him back.  “It is rude to leave the presence of your fiancée without acknowledging her. You were raised better than that.”

 

Despite his poor temperament, Draco bent and kissed Hermione’s cheek.  Inadvertently, his thumb stroked across the white sliver on the side of her neck.  The simultaneous gasps were easily ignored by Narcissa and Daphne, as they suddenly found their wine incredibly interesting.

 

Hermione’s head lulled to the side and her eyes fluttered shut as the feel of his thumb against her skin awakened need.  Draco concentrated on the sliver of shimmering white as the jolt of magic shared between them forced him to act. He hated his newfound inability to resist her and knew she felt much the same.

 

While it wasn’t necessarily proper to drag his accidental fiancée into his arms and snog her senseless at the dinner table, it couldn’t be helped.  Hermione attempted to resist. Her palms were flat on his chest, and she pushed against him silently. Draco’s grey eyes narrowed and it was then she realised his eyes had darkened to a dangerous hue, reminiscent of obsidian.  

 

“Mrs. …Malfoy?”  Hermione squirmed in his arms, yet she was unable to evade the insistent and soft lips.

 

“Oh for Merlin’s sake.  Manners, Draco! Manners!  Absolutely no sense of propriety.”  Narcissa slapped her palms on the table.  “At least have the decency to take her to your bedroom.  I do not wish to witness my son deflower his fiancée on the table.  We  _ eat _ here, Draco!”

 

Draco snorted against Hermione’s throat, as he vaguely wondered when he had segued from her lips.  The lure was strong and it was only with difficulty that he managed to lift his head. Hermione looked downright drunk on the magic being exchanged between them.  He quite decided he liked the sultry look in her eyes, but he managed to look over her head and lock eyes with his mother.

 

“I don’t even  _ like _ her,” Draco spat, even as his body betrayed him when Hermione wilted against his chest.  “And yet, I can’t stop myself from wanting to clear the table and fuck her until she can’t move.  You’ve-you've got to fix this. I can’t spend the rest of my life wanting her this way.”

 

It was then, of course, it was then, Hermione managed to free herself from the haze clouding her vision and her judgement.  She wrenched the smooth, gentle hands from her hips and pushed away from the sinewy muscles against her cheek. Hermione stood and stared up into her partner’s eyes just before she shoved him as she wavered on her heels.

 

“You bastard,” Hermione hissed.  “Do you think I wanted this? Are you truly so arrogant you believe I should be tossing my knickers at your feet in thanks?  Don’t you think I would do  _ anything _ …anything at all in order to rip this bloody ring from my finger?  I’ve tried, believe you me, I’ve tried, and it won’t budge.” Hermione stalked forward and repeatedly stabbed Draco with her forefinger.  “Do you think I’m proud of the fact I lost my virginity, the one gift I had planned to present to a man that actually loved me, to  _ you _ , a man that is surly, unkind and downright disparaging of my very existence?  Do you really think it was easy for me to come here tonight, Malfoy? I know what your father thinks of me, he’s never pretended, but you have, haven’t you?  I know your mother doesn’t think particularly highly of me either, despite the invitation for tea and her exuberance in planning a wedding I for one wish didn’t exist.”

 

“Granger—”

 

“Hermione—”

 

“Ms Granger,” Narcissa interrupted.  “I accept full responsibility. I schemed and this is the result.”

 

Hermione angrily wiped the furious tears from the corner of her eyes as she took in the people staring at her with their mouths agape.  She wanted to apologise, but she wasn’t sorry. The tumultuousness of the entire situation had reared its ugly head, and she no longer wished to be silent.

 

“No.”  Hermione Granger snarled and even Narcissa blinked in surprise.  “I curse the day I ever let my curiosity get the best of me. I’ve learnt my lesson.  I almost wish, no, I do wish that the ring in that stupid little box  _ had _ been Ron’s.  I wish he had stupidly given me a family heirloom that could never be removed, not because I want to marry him, I don’t.  Gods, I so don’t, but I don’t want to marry you either and these antiquated Pureblood Rituals or-or Blood Magicks, whatever they’re called, are horrid actually.  They’re cruel, but that’s not the point. The point is, I don’t want to marry you. You obviously don’t want to marry me. It isn’t supposed to be like this. Ron might be an idiot.  He might be selfish, lazy, and an utter and complete slob, but at least he’s my friend. At least, he cares about my feelings, and when he says something mean, he apologises for it, and he means it.  He would—he would shrug his shoulders and say well Mione, guess we’ll make the best of it. I would hate it because I hate it when he calls me Mione, but at least—at least I wouldn’t feel like this.”

 

It was Daphne Greengrass who approached the weeping brunette witch.  It was Daphne who held the shorter woman against her and patted Hermione’s back.  It was Daphne who glowered at Draco until his eyes dipped toward the floor in remorse.

 

“I thought you liked her enough to be polite.”  Daphne’s voice was low and smooth like honey, even over the sound of Hermione’s sobs.  “I put up with your arrogance, when we were children, when I didn’t know better. She doesn’t deserve to be treated like this, Draco.  I had such high hopes when I learned you had finally stopped shagging my sister. I heard of your distraction antics as far as Hermione was concerned.  I mean honestly Draco, you are protesting quite loudly for someone who has taken nearly every opportunity to snog her. She’s your partner and while I don’t understand her need to prove herself, I thought you would.”  Daphne placed her hands on Hermione’s shoulder and created a modicum of space between them. 

 

“Mrs Malfoy,” Hermione cleared her throat and looked at the tall blonde witch.  “I apologise for my outburst. Contrary to popular belief, I was raised with manners.  As for the wedding, I’m sure whatever you wish would be wonderful, as you are known for your impeccable taste.  Thank you for your hospitality, and good evening.” Hermione slowly turned on her heel and brushed passed Draco.

 

“Granger—“ Draco reached for her, yet only managed to graze her fingers as she pulled away.

 

“Don’t touch me.”

 

“I’ll see her home.”  Daphne waggled her fingers toward Narcissa and pretended Draco didn’t exist as she followed Hermione’s hasty exit.

 

Slowly, Draco sunk onto the cushioned high back chair and finished the contents of his wine glass in a single gulp.  He detested the idea of having to face Hermione Granger at work after her explosive display of emotion. For a nanosecond, he almost wished he  _ had _ given the ring to Astoria, but then the thoughts of spending a lifetime listening to her incessant whining quickly quashed such ideas.

 

“You didn’t tell her.”  Narcissa’s fingernails tapped against the side of her goblet as she studied the pattern that decorated her china.  “I’m simply going to assume you fibbed as well. You Malfoy men really are a manipulative lot. I have to admit I was pleased when the Ministry informed us you had solidified a match.  I never pretended to be fond of Astoria Greengrass. Your father was of the idea if we pushed you toward her, you would make your own choice, but that’s not what happened is it?”

 

“No,” Draco answered sulkily, “I didn’t have anything to do with it.  Weasley did it. Hell, you did it as well. I was—I was going to tell her, eventually.  I don’t know what happened.” He sighed and squashed his cheek against his open palm.

 

“You bit her, that’s what happened,” Narcissa’s blue eyes flicked heavenward.  “If you had paid the slightest bit of attention to your Specialities Tutor, none of this would be happening.”

 

“It was an issue before I ever bit her!  Is that what you wish to hear?! I struggled with it long before the situation that landed me, landed  _ us _ in St. Mungo’s.”  Draco was well aware of the fact he was shouting at his mother, but propriety be damned.  “There wasn’t anything to be done about it. She was supposed to marry Weasley and I would spend the rest of my existence in misery, shackled to a witch of my parent’s choosing.  I didn’t  _ mean _ to bite her.  I was, I was—” Draco faltered and swallowed hard.

 

“Tell me.”  His mother walked the short distance to her son and placed her hand on his shoulder.

 

“I was locked in a memory.  I simply kept replaying Aunt Bella torturing her, and I just, I wanted to protect her and I couldn’t then.  I couldn’t do anything then. It was an accident.” Draco wilted under the soothing hand of his mother, and Narcissa’s posture relaxed in silent acceptance.

 

Lucius Malfoy stumbled into the dining room and scoffed at his son’s emotional outburst.  He teetered on his feet slightly, but remained upright and was quite pleased to discover he hadn’t spilt his tumbler of firewhiskey.  Lucius flounced onto the chair at the head of the table, as was his right, and smirked at his son.

 

“Accident,” He scoffed.  “You don’t honestly believe that, do you Cissa?  He’s been downright obsessed with the little Mudblood from his first year at Hogwarts.  I told you we should have sent him to Durmstrang. Look what it has got us, a Mudblood daughter-in-law, and Half-Blood grandchildren.  The Pureblood Malfoys, the legacy of my ancestors has ended, bravo Draco, bravo.” Lucius Malfoy tittered and clapped his hands in facetious applause.

 

He didn’t see the way his son’s eyes dangerously darkened.  He didn’t see his son’s clenched fist and the pink hue of the boy’s cheeks.  He definitely didn’t see the firm knuckled fist aimed for his nose, but he surely felt it.


	16. 16

* * *

 

_ I’m mostly peace, love, and light.  And a little go fuck yourself. - Pansy Parkinson _

* * *

 

 

Five days.  It took Draco Lucius Malfoy five days to contemplate the idea he might have spoken harshly.  Five days of silences. Five days of returned owls. Five days coming to terms with the fact, he had been wrong.  It was difficult to fathom such a thing, but when faced with the reality of a dire situation, it was the only conclusion.  

 

Draco glared at the empty space across from his desk and wondered how she managed to file their reports when he hadn’t even caught a glimpse of her within the Ministry.  The ink dripped from his quill and marred the parchment, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about much of anything as far as his work was concerned and it showed.

 

“Malfoy, you can’t keep this up.” Harry Potter sighed heavily as he leaned against the doorjamb.

 

He couldn’t pretend he was mates with Malfoy, or even particularly fond of him, but someone needed to do something.  Harry didn’t really want to be the one to confront the surly former Death Eater, but Ron had absolutely refused. Ron was of a mind that Malfoy was the sort that if he wished for help, he’d ask for it, but Harry vehemently disagreed.

 

"Shut up, Potter," Draco growled and accidentally knocked the inkpot off his dark wood desk.  "Why are you here? What do you want?"

 

Harry flicked his wand and watched as the ink steadily streamed back into the inkpot.  He crossed the office slowly and perched on the edge of Malfoy’s desk. He studied the purple smudges beneath the paler wizard’s eyes.  He noted the hard-set of the man’s jaw. 

 

“You really should apologise.” Harry crossed his arms and waited for the angry outburst.

 

"I have, Potter!  I've sent owls, and she's returned them!  What the fuck else am I supposed to do? She hasn't even been to work for fuck's sake."  Draco slammed his fist on the desk and angrily shoved the neat pile of files to the floor.

 

“Come out with us.” Harry struggled with the invitation, but Draco didn’t seem to notice in his ire.

 

"Why would I go anywhere with you?" Draco sneered and Harry was haunted by the childish veneer of the wizard before him.  The difference now, however, was the fact Harry knew Draco's abhorrent attitude was simply a defence mechanism.

 

“Ron and I are going to the pub after our shift ends.  It might be beneficial for you, Malfoy. Who knows Hermione Granger better than the two blokes that have been by her side since we were all eleven?”  Harry gently removed the quill being gripped tightly between Draco’s fingers and set it on the desk. “You can’t just sit here wallowing in your own misery.  I’m not going to pretend we’re best mates or anything, but I’m making a bloody effort here. I’m well aware of the fact you’re mates with Ron and it would make Hermione’s life easier if we just attempted to get along.”

 

Draco groaned loudly and buried his head in his arms.  The last thing he wished to do was spend the remainder of his evening with two Gryffindors, especially where Harry Potter was concerned, but the man had a point.  He simply wanted Hermione Granger to entertain the possibility of speaking with him and he couldn’t think beyond a simple owl.

 

“Alright.” 

 

The words were spoken so quietly, Harry had to lean forward to hear them, but they were there.  He decided it was unnecessary to inform Draco Malfoy that Ron was extending the very same invitation to Hermione Granger.  He knew from personal experience, she was downright unbearable when faced with the idea of a surprise and an unwelcome one would be much worse.  It would be easy enough to blame Ron for such things.

 

“I don’t want to!”

 

Harry cringed and squeezed his eyes shut.  It seemed Ron had a completely different idea and he didn’t see it ending well.  He adjusted his Auror trench and glanced at Draco, surprised to see the wizard holding his breath.

 

“Yeah, I don’t care anymore, Hermione.  I can’t be forced to work under these conditions.  Did you know you filed a report with an error?” Ron Weasley held Hermione’s elbow in a firm grasp as he led her toward her new office.

 

“I did not!”

 

Harry noted the way Draco nearly smiled at the sound of Hermione’s indignation.  Of course, the twitch was immediately concealed by a deep frown. Draco kept his eyes on the door handle as the voices in the corridor grew louder.  He barely noticed when Harry moved toward the door.

 

“Apparently that’s my cue.  I’ll see you at the Leaky later if you survive,” Harry offered a half shrug as the door swung open and Draco swallowed hard.  “Expelliarmus.” Harry smiled brightly when Hermione’s wand flew to his hand.

 

"Harry, you-you disarmed me.  What the hell is going on here?" Hermione was unceremoniously pushed into her new office and she hadn’t spied Draco quite yet.

 

“It was bound to happen eventually, Hermione.” Harry wiggled his dark eyebrows as he stuffed her wand into his interior pocket.  

 

“Robards, Williams, and Shacklebolt have agreed this is the best course of action for the sake of the D.M.L.E.  Malfoy, you’re up.” Ron Weasley poked his head into the office and Harry Potter slipped through the narrow space with a guilty wave.

 

The door was quickly closed and it was obviously being warded from the exterior.  Hermione angrily crossed her arms and very nearly stamped her foot. Draco’s first instinct was to search his pockets for his wand, but Harry had nicked it while Draco was distracted.

 

"Rude," Hermione grumbled.

 

She was more than aware of the fact Draco Malfoy had rounded his desk, yet she continued to ignore him.  She turned on the heel of her black boots and stalked toward her empty desk. She noted the bookshelves lining the back wall and frowned.  They hadn’t been present the last time she had stepped into the office.

 

Hermione disliked the idea that Draco Malfoy had done something kind for her after his childish outburst while at his parent’s home.  She released a jagged breath when she discovered her favourite research tomes were neatly lined on the shelves, in alphabetical order, just the way she preferred.  The dozen empty shelves were quite an incentive to move into this office, except for the fact she’d be forced to share it with Draco.

 

“Was this your doing?” Hermione finally turned to glower at him, with her hands firmly pressed against her hips, but her tirade died in her throat.  “You look  _ awful _ .”

 

“I didn’t know they had a plan.  Potter stopped by to invite me to the pub after hours.  I probably should have been suspicious.” Draco leaned against the smooth wood, his grey eyes roving over her familiar form.  “Did you, did you read any of my owls?”

 

Hermione copied his stance against her own desk and tapped her bottom lip with her forefinger.  She had been successful in avoiding Draco thus far, but it had always been a temporary fix. However, Hermione hadn’t planned for her best mate’s subterfuge.  

 

“Obviously the Howler.” Hermione’s toffee eyes inspected the scuff on her black boots rather than study the curious grey eyes lingering on her.  “I-I wasn’t aware a Howler could be sent without actually shouting.”

 

Draco closed his eyes and released the breath he’d been holding.  The Howler hadn’t been his idea. It had been Theo Nott in all honesty.  The man had burst through Draco’s Floo and spent an hour ranting and raving about their idiocy.  He’d also helped himself to Draco’s Imported Firewhiskey, but the idea had been brilliant and Draco was quick to forgive his mate.  He only hoped Hermione wasn’t the sort of witch to hold onto a grudge for all eternity.

 

“Theo said it couldn’t hurt to try.”

 

“Did you, did you mean it?”

 

Draco pushed off the desk and pursed his lips.  For the first time in his life, he was thankful he didn’t have his wand.  He was even more thankful Hermione hadn’t hers either. He chanced her wrath and walked toward her slowly, but she didn’t stiffen upon his approach.

 

"I wouldn't say I was sorry if I wasn't." He kept a small modicum of space between them, though his fingers itched to touch her.

 

“Your mother is displeased with me,” Hermione’s gaze dropped to the pearl buttons on Draco’s button down.  “Apparently, she doesn’t appreciate the fact I’ve begged off her invitations to tea.”

 

“Granger, I don’t give a shit about my mother.  Potter and Weasley didn’t lock us in here to discuss my bloody mother.  She’ll get over it and if she doesn’t I’m sure I’ll hear about it. Would you just fucking talk to me?” Draco’s trembling hands grasped her hips and his fingers curled into the drab brown skirt.

 

“I can’t think when you’re touching me,” Hermione’s hands covered his and yet she didn’t force his fingers from her person.

 

“Good, now you know how I feel every moment we work together,” Draco’s warm breath on her cheek caused a shiver and it pleased him to know he affected her.

 

“You’re being ridiculous, Malfoy.  We’ve worked together for years and you’ve been awful.” Hermione’s cool fingers unconsciously stroked the warm flesh of his wrists and her heart raced toward a furious beat.

 

“M-my tutors…I should have told you…” Draco lowered his head and stopped his attempts to pull her against him.

 

“Tell me now then.” Hermione’s thumb grazed the faded Dark Mark on Draco’s forearm and she paused.  It intrigued her, it always had, and the fact the skin wasn’t quite as warm, quite as smooth, only added to her interest.

 

Draco inhaled deeply and risked her ire.  Ever so gently, he turned Hermione toward her desk and yanked her against his chest.  He resisted the urge to crinkle her skirt in his hands and sink his teeth into the smooth skin of her shoulder.

 

“It’s easier to speak to you if I can’t see your eyes.” Draco bent his head and his tongue flicked forward to taste her earlobe.

 

Hermione was determined to remain strong.  She had managed to keep her composure while in close proximity to Draco, but her resolve was waning.  It was infinitely easier to keep a clear head when she avoided him, but of course, Harry and Ron had to interfere.  She expected nothing less really, but she truly believed she’d have a bit more time.

 

“You’re not saying anything.” Hermione refused to shift against him, yet it wasn’t without difficulty.

 

“If you had gone to tea with my mother, she would have informed you.  I think that was her plan all along. She  _ suspected _ , you see.” Draco practically curled around her, yet kept his fingers high on her hips.  “The converging of the Black and Malfoy lines have, well, I can’t say awakened, because it’s less than that but definitely more than my parents.”

 

“Malfoy—”

 

“Hidden deep within the family recesses are Veela.  I’m not going to waste your time by filling in the silence with information you’ve studied since you were eleven. Veela themselves are far, far removed from my parents, but shockingly in both their ancestries, which brings us to me.  I’ve been educated by Special Tutors since I was seven. I knew about my unique heritage, but I didn’t know what it meant, until you.” Draco paused, and in a moment of weakness, brushed his cheek against her tightly coiffed dark hair.

  
  


“Fleur Weasley is part Veela.  She is  _ ferociously _ protective of Bill.  It’s terrifying really.  I was offered a position alongside Bill as an Apprentice Curse Breaker and I turned it down.” Hermione’s thoughts were flitting about, as they often did, and Draco was amused.

 

He was incredibly fond of the way her mind worked.  It was unique and that uniqueness attracted him more than he was willing to admit.  Their close proximity after days apart was a heady sensation and Draco knew if he wasn’t careful, he would lose his head.  He didn’t want to scare her. Hell, he didn’t want to scare himself either. It was uncharted territories, something they would have to wade through together, but only if she was willing.

 

“Yes, it’s quite like that really.  I imagine if they had met when she was younger, she probably would have been just as cruel to Bill as I was to you.  I don’t know why don’t ask me to explain it because I can’t. I hated you and wanted to protect you all at once. It was terribly confusing as a child, but hasn’t changed much as an adult.”

 

Hermione nodded and her quick wit caused her to discern the truth in his words.  She closed her eyes and ignored his fingertips inching toward the hem of her blouse.  She recalled the smattering of warnings laced with facetious sneers throughout her years at Hogwarts.  Warnings that had saved not only her life but also the lives of others. 

 

“You’re not going to sprout wings are you?” Hermione teased him and managed to relax when he chuckled against her cheek.

 

“No.  There shan’t be any wings or mating rituals.  Alright, I'm honestly not sure about the mating rituals, but I'm fairly certain the wings will remain a non-issue.  I  _ can _ say I’ll have a tendency to be quite jealous and possessive.  I’m not going to crawl away and die if you reject me, but it’ll hurt like hell.  It’s a bit too late for that anyway, kitten. You’re wearing my ring. I admit I was a bit of an arse—”  Draco shrugged, yet Hermione was quick to interject.

 

“A bit?  A bit? Is that the best you’ve got?  You were obnoxious and hurtful without cause, Malfoy.”

 

“I know, kitten.  I said I was sorry.” Draco kissed her cheek and sighed when his palms finally touched the smooth planes of her abdomen.

 

Hermione turned and Draco lamented the loss of contact.  She smoothed his wrinkled dress shirt in order to calm her nerves more than anything.  His forefinger tapped beneath her chin until finally brown met grey. 

 

“What do we do now?” Hermione’s tongue flicked across her bottom lip, just before she began to gnaw the corner.

 

“We allow my mother to plan a society wedding on short notice.  We shag like bunnies. We continue to do our jobs and go from there.  I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers. We can figure out the details later, after we’ve met the requirements of the Contract.”  Draco leant forward to kiss her and Hermione moved her head to avoid his lips.

 

"I need to speak to a Healer about some sort of Contraceptive Potion.  I am not remotely ready to be a parent and neither are you." Hermione had that authoritarian tone of her voice and ordinarily, Draco wouldn't argue with her, but these circumstances were quite different.

 

His forefinger stroked down the smooth plane of her nose and tapped the end.  Hermione bristled, as was her nature, yet that damned teasing smile caused her to deflate.  She really hated the way he affected her. It wasn’t fair. This was not what she had planned and now everything was upended because of some rare Veela gene.

 

"Oh kitten, your naïveté is almost as adorable as your temper.  We've got two years to produce an heir, not a child mind you, an heir.  I'm sure if there's a way around it, you'll find it, but Potions, Charms, and whatever else you can think of violates the Contract.  Can we stop talking now? I'd rather like to shag you on your desk." Draco's lascivious intentions were blatantly obvious by the prominent tent of his trousers and the darkening of his eyes.

 

“I am not your little sex toy!” Hermione shrieked.

 

“Sex toy?” Draco mused.  “Wait, Muggles have toys directly correlated to sex?  I’m going to require visual aids and demonstrations.”

 

Hermione groaned in frustration.  He was an absolutely infuriating man.  He was also sexy as hell and he knew it, which sort of ruined everything.  She wasn’t the type of girl that was attracted to arrogance. At least, she never had been before Draco Malfoy insinuated himself into her life.

 

However, the inherent attraction wasn't enough.  It would never be enough, not for a woman like Hermione.  Despite her bookish exterior, she wanted everything every woman wanted.  She wanted to be loved in a way that made her ache with the intensity of it.

 

It was frivolous in the grand scheme of things, she knew that.  It was completely inaccurate for the current state of affairs. She knew that as well.  It didn’t change what she wanted, though she’d never voice it. It was a secret; a well-kept secret that she would bind in a pretty little box and store it away in the darkened corner of her soul.

 

“Malfoy,” Hermione sighed sadly.  “Sex isn’t the end all fix all.”

 

“It could be, if you let it,” Draco crooned, his fingers busily shoving her buttons through their respective holes.  

 

Hermione had always considered herself a strong witch, a strong woman.  She also had a tendency to overextend herself. She’d also allowed her friends to take advantage of her, but this was something different.  There had to be rules in place. It had to be more than just hot shags, especially if there was absolutely no chance of escape.

 

“You bit me again, why did you do that?” Hermione valiantly attempted to remain focused even as her cream blouse was dragged down her pebbled arms.

 

“It had been too long,” Draco whispered. “Even now, it’s not as stark white as it should be.  When you love me, it’ll remain lighter longer, but until then—“

 

“When  _ I _ love  _ you _ ?” Hermione pushed against his hard chest angrily.  “What about me, Malfoy? What do I get out of all this?”

 

“Kitten,” Draco crooned, “don’t be like that.  I’m not going to wax poetic.  If that’s what you’re expecting, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

 

“I need something.  You’ve got to give me something.  I can’t just throw my hands up and say alright, guess I’m Malfoy’s little sex slave now.  You can’t expect me to be happy with that! What about your mother? She’s going to expect me to give up my career and pretend to be the perfect little Pureblood wife and I can’t do that.  I can’t. It’ll kill me.”

 

Draco clenched his jaw and counted to ten in half a dozen languages before he addressed her concerns.  The last thing he wanted to do was discuss their impending domesticity. He wanted to peel her hideously ugly skirt from her delectable hips and bury himself in her until he could no longer feel his extremities.  He knew it was only a matter of time before he actually had to address such things with her beyond sex, but he really wished he’d had more time. 

 

Despite copious uncomfortable conversations with his mother, he was still ill at ease with voicing his feelings.  It simply wasn’t done! It didn’t matter that his mother encouraged such things, his father had tamped down Draco’s emotionalism when he was nothing more than a boy.  He took a moment and reflected upon a recent conversation he’d had with his incorrigible mother.

 

_ “Draco, do you believe me to be a fool?” Narcissa softly chided her only child. _

 

_ “No, of course not.  I don’t understand what that would have to do with Granger, but definitely not.” _

 

_ “You’ve been obsessed with Hermione Granger since the first moment you laid eyes on her.  Don’t shake your head. I didn’t say you liked her. In fact, quite the opposite wasn’t it?  You were abysmally cruel to her and yet somehow you’ve managed to forge a friendship with her.   _

 

_ ‘It’s been much more than that for years and I haven’t said a word.  I assumed you would adamantly resist your father’s plans for you, but you didn’t.  You were going to blindly follow as you’ve always done and dammit, Draco. I could not sit idly by and allow it to happen again.   _

 

_ ‘I interceded on your behalf, with a little help from unlikely sources.  I’m not the least bit sorry, Draco. Tell her how you feel.” Narcissa’s blue eyes twinkled with knowledge and he hated it.  He hated that his mother knew something about him that he didn’t. _

 

_ "I-you don't understand.  I can't do it. My mouth gets dry and the words are just stuck in my throat.  It's absolutely horrid. I mean, I don't like her. She drives me batty. I want to throttle her and also shag her at the same time.  Every time she opens those pouty little lips, I want to bite them. Every time she walks past me in those sinfully tight skirts, I want to rip them to shreds.  I want to badger her with unanswerable questions just so she'll bite her lip. I want to steal her shitty little Muggle drinks just to hear her laugh when she spies the disdain on my face.  I don't know what it is. I don't know what it's called. I definitely don't know how to make it stop. Fuck, I don't even know when it started. What the fuck is it, Mother?" _

 

_ “There are some questions even your mother cannot answer, Draco.” Narcissa pursed her lips with a playful little smile and vacated the Conservatory without a backward glance. _

 

_ “Thanks for nothing then!” _

 

Hermione waited, impatiently, as was her way and finally rested her head against his chest.  She was inexplicably soothed by the fact his arms always came around her tightly. It had always been that way between them and finally, finally, she understood the strange looks they'd garnered over the years.

 

“I’d never ask you to give up your illustrious Ministry career, Granger.” Draco awkwardly patted her back and rubbed his cheek across the top of her head.  “Why don’t we start small and choose a dwelling. We’ll work out the particulars and you’re sorely mistaken if you honestly believe you’d be nothing more than a sex object.”  

 

It was much harder to put thoughts into words then he thought it would be.  It had always been easy with Granger, but they'd never discussed anything of an intimate nature.  Everything had changed in the blink of an eye and it would take time to adjust.

 

“I hate that all the answers aren’t hidden away in some book,” Hermione groaned and tightened her arms around his lithe waist. “I don’t even know what you want,”  she lamented.

 

“I want to, oh yes, there it is,” Draco smirked as he worked the clasp of her bra, “to release your breasts from their confines and give them the attention they’re due.  I want to inch up the ugliest skirt known to man and tug your knickers down your thighs. I want to suckle your neck and listen to your little pants as you open your legs for me.”

 

“Uh huh,” Hermione breathed, “and then?”

 

She bit her lip as she watched his pale fingers pull at her hardened nipples.  She thought for a moment that she really should play harder to get, but it felt so wonderful, she berated herself for considering it in the first place.  Hermione shuddered when hot lips brushed along her jaw while Draco also managed to tug on her knickers.

 

“I’ve discovered I’m quite fond of watching you come on my fingers.  I want to see that. I want your hair free and your head thrown back.  Would you like that, kitten?” Draco dragged his witch to the floor and hastily shoved her skirt over her hips.

 

“Yes, gods please,” Hermione writhed against the rough carpet and yanked Draco on top of her.

 

Draco furiously thrust his fingers into her slick, warm heat; his eyes locked on her plump lips and flushed cheeks.  He loved the way her eyelids fluttered. He loved the way her back would arch and present her begging breasts. He loved her wanton moans and the way she’d whimper ‘please’.  He loved—oh, gods be damned.

 

“Granger—“

 

“Not yet, not yet, almost, oh sweet Merlin, yes,” Hermione moaned as her legs turned to jelly.

 

She didn’t wait until his fingers withdrew.  She leant forward and tore his belt from the loops.  She shoved his dark trousers off his hips, along with his underthings, until his cock was freed.

 

“Slow down.”

 

“No,” Hermione shook her head violently.  “I don’t want to slow down. I want it.  Give it to me.”

 

Draco shrugged and hastily complied.  Who was he to deny his witch her pleasures?  He hissed in absolute pleasure the moment he sunk into her.  He wondered how he’d managed to go so long without her wrapped around him and vowed not to do so again.  

 

He threaded their fingers together and studied her hand in his.  That heavy feeling in his chest made yet another appearance, yet rather than shoving it aside, Draco embraced it; as much as it terrified him to do so.

 

“Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” Draco grunted and slowed his thrusts.

 

“Why are you doing this now?  K-keep going. Don’t stop,” Hermione begged.

 

“One kiss, one bloody heated kiss and that was it, Granger.  You ignited a fire and I was fucking hooked,” Draco stared down at her.  “Look at me, kitten. Please? Do you—do you understand what I’m saying?”

 

Hermione forced her groggy eyes to open and stared into the depths of near black.  She concentrated on the pressure of his palm against hers as she met his lazy thrusts.  There was something there, she could feel it. As his forehead dropped to hers, Hermione felt a surge of emotion and was nearly set to tears.

 

Their breaths mingled together and it was deeper than a hurried shag.  It was more than stolen kisses. It was suddenly everything and she was unable to deny the connection any longer.  Her heart hurt with the effort to cast aside the gentle prod of his magic as it licked at hers.

 

She'd heard of this, read it even, but when faced with the overwhelming truth of it, Hermione baulked.  It frightened her, if truth be told. Veela were magical creatures, but they were also completely human.  Their magic tethered to their other half only once they had accepted it.

 

It wasn’t simply a matter of Veela awaiting their mate’s acceptance.  They themselves had to accept the match in order for the bond to be completed.  Hermione could feel the strength, the heat of it, burn against her palm, and nestle against her heart.

 

She knew if she were asked later, she wouldn’t be able to describe the sensation.  She wouldn’t want to share it with anyone anyway. It was hers and it was beautiful.

 

Draco kissed her then and the salt of her tears was sharp against his tongue.  His fingers were numb, yet he only held tighter, desperate to keep their connection.  Nonsensical words of affection fell from his lips against her throat the moment he broke the kiss.  It was too much. It was mind-numbingly overwhelming and then finally she clenched around him.

 

Her fingers dug rivulets on his back and he hissed with the sting of the sweat as it seeped into his battered flesh.  He blinked down at her slowly and Hermione nodded. The relief made his limbs feel heavy, yet he managed to hold her close.  With an elongated groan, Draco’s release spilt forth and his shaky arms gave out.

 

“That was  _ amazing _ ,” Hermione yawned.  She immediately inspected her hand, though it was no shock it wasn’t marred by an excruciating burn.

 

“I might be utter shite with words, but I like to think I’m pretty alright when it comes to show,”  Draco wiggled his pale eyebrows until she cracked a smile. “Now, tell me about these Muggle sex toys.”

 

“I’ll ask Luna to bring over some samples.  She’s got a shop in Diagon Alley,” Hermione offered and tossed her bare leg over his hip.

 

“She doesn’t offer demonstrations, does she?  I’d rather not—“ Draco paused and quirked his head to the side.  

 

Hermione scowled until she heard the office door slam open.  She covered her mouth with both hands and desperately looked for her clothing.  Draco smirked and simply shoved his button-down into her hands. She rolled her eyes and stuffed her arms into it before her ears picked up decidedly carnal noises.

 

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

 

“Do you want me to stop?”

 

“Fuck no, definitely don’t stop.  Never stop.”

 

“I think Potter and the Lovegood bird are going to shag on my fucking desk,”  Draco hissed into Hermione’s ear.

 

“Hermione won’t like it if—“

 

“She’s not here.  She’s probably shagging Malfoy against a wall.  Gods, I love your tits. I’m going to spread you across Malfoy’s desk and fuck you with my tongue,”  Harry growled.

 

“I’d really rather you didn’t, Potter.”

 

Draco slowly climbed to his feet and smirked down at Hermione while she tugged his boxers up his weary thighs.  Frankly, he didn’t give an elf’s arse if Potter saw his bits, but he also knew Granger wouldn’t appreciate Lovegood taking a gander.

 

“Oh hello Draco,”  Luna waved enthusiastically from Draco’s desk without the slightest care as far as her nudity was concerned.  “Is Hermione there as well? I should hope so. It’d be strange to be starkers in your office without a partner, wouldn’t it?”

 

“Potter is aware we  _ can _ see him, yes?”  Draco pointedly stared at the green-eyed wizard whose head was currently buried between Luna’s breasts.

 

Hermione smothered an inappropriate bout of laughter and sidled into Draco’s side.  She was grateful her mahogany desk hid her bare legs, but she wished Luna had such propriety.  She loved the witch, dearly even, but Luna’s blasé nature was a bit much to take at times.

 

“I thought you would have left,” Harry stated stupidly.

 

“That doesn’t give you license to fornicate on my desk.” Draco crossed his arms and averted his eyes from Luna’s pert peaks.

 

“Technically it’s adultery,” Hermione quipped. “Luna, please.”

 

Luna hopped off Draco’s desk and shimmied into a purple monstrosity that hit the floor.  It was the most shapeless garment Hermione had ever seen. She was actually speechless.

 

“Lovegood, Granger says you’ve got a shop that specialises in Muggle sex toys, is that right?”

 

“Oh yeah, it’s great,” Harry answered excitedly.  “She’s got this special lubricant and it warms up and everything.  I didn’t know things like that existed and when Luna stuck her finger in my bum—“

 

“Harry!” Hermione gasped and buried her face into Draco’s bare chest.

 

“I did it again, didn’t I?” Harry sheepishly asked Luna.

 

Draco pressed his lips to Hermione’s temple in a rare show of affection and dropped his arm around her shoulders.  She blinked in surprise and propped her chin on his chest to study him. Something between them had changed, though she was remiss to put a name to it.  She realised he didn’t need to say the words, she felt them, and that was enough.

 

“Malfoy?”  

 

The office door thumped open and Blaise Zabini stumbled into the room.  The serious furrow of his brow eased the moment he took note of the occupants.  It was nary a moment later a dimpled grin made his dark eyes light in amusement.

 

“Blaise.” Draco inclined his head in a curt nod.

 

“Malfoy.  Mrs Malfoy.  Potter. Mrs Potter, oh wait,  _ you’re _ not Mrs Potter.  Whatever should I tell the Mrs Potter waiting by the lifts?”  Blaise chuckled and crossed his arms.

 

"Bollocks!"  Harry tore himself away from Luna and mumbled angrily as he stomped down the corridor.  The last thing he wanted to deal with was his wife. He'd already submitted the proper paperwork to the Wizengamot.  He couldn't wait until he was a free man once more.

 

“We’ve caught a case.  Nott wants the team assembled.  I’d suggest trousers,” Blaise waggled his fingers and returned to the rows of cubicles just down the corridor.

 

“Luna,” Hermione began.

 

“I can hear the judgement in your voice, Hermione.” Luna tied a brilliant yellow and orange wide striped belt around her small waist and sighed.  “I’m not his conscience. I don’t even owe you an explanation. We had one night. He was beyond intoxicated.  I doubt he even remembers it, but that doesn’t matter! We were young and silly and it was laughter and fumbling in the dark and beautiful.”

 

Draco quickly covered Hermione’s mouth.  He sincerely hoped she would not sink her teeth into his flesh.  She didn’t understand and how could she? Despite the fact she’d spent most of her life in the Wizarding World, there was still so much she didn’t know.  They weren’t the sorts of things taught in books or even discussed in polite company and he supposed it fell on him to instruct her.

 

“Granger, it’s different in the Wizarding World.  I’m not,” Draco groaned in discomfort, “condoning infidelity, so please try not to shout at me yet.  Potter married Brown, but Lovegood, she—“

 

“He belongs to me,”  Luna spat with a ferocity Hermione had never heard.  “He is mine and I am his. If she hadn’t lied,” Luna choked on the words, “he wouldn’t have married her.  He belongs to me.”


	17. 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings & whatnot, but let's face it. If dub-con & bits of non-con aren't for you, then neither is this story.

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Your thoughts kill you, don’t they?  - Astoria Greengrass_

 

* * *

 

Marguerite Greengrass carefully Charmed her hair the way she did every morning.  She studied the lines in her face and her dark eyes with a calculated glare. She was desperately unhappy, but it would never do to discuss such things.  

 

She was the perfect Pureblood wife as was her mother before her.  Marguerite couldn’t remember a time when her family had been anything less than Pureblood.  She was Arranged and she never considered a different life.

 

She was demure, agreeable, and kind, just as her husband wished.  She never put up a fuss as she was taught to never disagree with her husband.  She did so like to be pleasing.

 

Marguerite’s shoulders slumped as the lies filled her head.  She wasn’t agreeable and kind. She was biting and cruel when the mood struck her, more often than not within the safety of her rooms.  She detested blonde hair. She wanted her damned burgundy waves to cascade down her back with pride.

 

She was tired of living a lie.  Johnathan Greengrass was a portly bastard.  His fondest pastime was stuffing his face with scones and pastries.  He believed gravy to be its own food group and would often wander about with dark stains on his robes.

 

Marguerite had begged her father not to marry her off to Johnathan Greengrass.  She had sunk to her knees and sobbed until her eyes stung. Her father had patted her head and told her she would be happy, but she wasn’t happy.

 

She almost wished Johnathan had banded together with the Death Eaters.  At least when Voldemort was vanquished, he would have wound up in Azkaban.  Marguerite would have enjoyed her freedom then.

 

Angrily, Marguerite released the Charm on her hair and smirked haughtily into the vanity.  She felt beautiful for the first time in years, despite her advancing age and she was going to cling to it for as long as possible.  She was tired of living beneath a selfish bastard’s thumb. It was a bloody new world and she for one, was ready to embrace it.

 

“Margie!”  Johnathan bellowed from the safety of his favourite armchair.

 

She hated being called Margie, but Johnathan did as he liked, which segued to shagging pretty little tarts as well.  She knew of his numerous affairs and Marguerite was thankful for them. The more time he spent grunting with another witch was less time he spent rutting into her.

 

“What is it?!”  Marguerite marched into the sitting room and sneered at her husband’s jiggling jowls.

 

“Margie, you go and Charm your hair right now.  We can’t have Astoria looking at you like that. She might ask questions!”  Johnathan snorted much like a hog and struggled to sit up. “I have it on good authority the Malfoys will soon be begging for our daughter.  That’s not why I called you. I need you to go to the shops. I’m out of crisps and biscuits. I also—“

 

“No,”  Marguerite interrupted and smiled.  “I’m not Charming my hair. It’s time you’ve told your daughter the truth of it.  I shan’t take part in the deception any longer. The only reason the Malfoy’s even entertained an Arrangement was because of her questionable heritage.  You bloody well know they’d never have considered it for Daphne. They’re quite against inbreeding. Did you know that Johnny?”

 

“Don’t call me that, Margie.  I-I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but this is unacceptable.”

 

Johnathan heaved his corpulent body to his feet and wheezed heavily.  He wasn’t as young as he used to be. It was far harder to move about.  He was highly confused by his wife’s attitude. She’d never been blatantly disrespectful before.  He knew he would have to teach her, punish her soundly even, in order to maintain order in his household.

 

“Fuck you, Johnathan.  Fuck you.”

 

Marguerite Belvina Rosier Greengrass allowed the bubbles of laughter to escape her lips and left her husband to bluster incoherently.  She marched directly to her only daughter’s bedchamber and rapped on the door with authority.

 

“Mum?”  Daphne rubbed her eyes sleepily and yawned as her mother stepped into the room.  “What have you done to your hair?”

 

“Daphne, I’m leaving your father.  I would like you to come with me. As for my hair, I haven’t done anything to it.  I’ve simply refused to do as your father directed. I’m tired of Charming my hair. I’m tired of living a lie.  I’m tired of trying to bloody sell my daughter off to the highest fucking bidder to make your fat bastard of a father richer so he can stuff his disgusting face!  I’m tired dammit! Now, are you coming with me or would you prefer to remain behind while he solidifies a Marriage Contract with the Flints?”

 

Daphne quickly rubbed the sleep from her eyes and nodded.  She didn’t barrage her mother with questions. She flicked her wand and sent her belongings careening into her trunk.  She wondered if she had time to dress properly and looked to her mother for direction.

 

“Mum, where are we going?”

 

“I haven’t really thought this through.  I thought maybe you’d know?” Marguerite’s dark eyes widened and her hands began to tremble with the enormity of her declarations.

 

“I do, I absolutely do.  I’ll dress and we’ll Floo.  What about Ast—“

 

“No.”

 

Daphne didn’t know what to do with that and slipped into silence.  She’d never heard her mother speak so forcefully. It made her feel immensely proud and also a bit guilty.  She’d often spoke poorly of her mother, but it seemed there was fire in the woman after all.

 

“Have you got your things?”  Daphne levitated her trunk into the corridor and buttoned her cloak.

 

“I’ll send for them later. I should have done this nearly twenty years ago, but I was afraid.  I’m tired of being afraid, Daphne.” Marguerite clenched her fist around her wand and looked to her daughter for direction.

 

Daphne offered her mother her arm and the two dark-haired women strode down the corridor toward the Travelling Room.  Daphne listened for the exaggerated sounds of her father or even her sister, but it was eerily silent in the Greengrass home.  She didn’t like it, not one bit.

 

Daphne knew it was inexplicably rude to simply arrive at someone’s home without at least sending an owl first.  She didn’t trust her father, if truth be told. She felt that if they didn’t leave right then, they would be prisoners in their own home.  Therefore, she cringed and announced her destination in a flourish of green flames.

 

“I don’t see why we have to look at them today.  I’m fond of my flat.”

 

Daphne heard a familiar groan of malcontent and grimaced.  She had hoped to speak with Hermione alone, but she was never alone these days.  She didn’t blame Draco for his obsession, it simply made everything a bit more difficult.

 

“I’m fond of my flat as well, Granger.  It has nothing to do with any of that. It’s expected.  I told you about the specifications of the Contract. My mother has run my owl ragged with talk of wedding plans.  There’s so much that needs to be done and I don’t want to listen to my mother prattle on about colours and caterers.”

 

Daphne held her finger to her lips to silence her nervous mother.  It amused her slightly to watch her mother’s eyes widen and even her nose crinkle while she took in the humble surroundings.  Her mother was used to opulence and had never seen how others lived.

 

“I think I heard the Floo.”

 

“Granger,”  Draco whined.  “At least give my mother a list of acceptable colours for the wedding.  Can you do that much?”

 

“You didn’t even ask,”  Hermione mumbled somewhat sadly.

 

Draco groaned, pinched his nose, and pretended he didn’t see Daphne lurking nearby.  He didn’t want to have yet another of these conversations. Granger was exceptionally needy, which was ridiculous, at least he believed it was.  For a Gryffindor, she was terribly emotional and he hadn’t the patience for it.

 

“I didn’t realise that was something you wanted.”  Draco stood behind Hermione while she washed the dishes and set his chin on her shoulder.  “You put on the ring, you’ve given me nothing left to do. Do you want me to ask, is that what you want?”

 

The tenderness with which Draco spoke to Hermione pricked Daphne to the core.  She wanted that. She wanted the sort of affection that came with being loved. Despite their rocky start and the tumultuousness surrounding their entire courtship, it was obvious there was love there.

 

“No, not really, it would be silly, wouldn’t it?  I know I’m being absurd.” Hermione stared out the window for a moment and set aside her childish fairytale fantasies.  “Let me finish these dishes and we’ll spend the afternoon choosing a dwelling.”

 

Draco slipped his hand into the waistband of her loungewear while his teeth sunk into her neck.  He chuckled at the moisture that pooled in her knickers. He stroked her slowly, his other hand inching up her cotton shirt until his hand was filled with warm breast.  Hermione moaned, her hands gripping the edge of the sink basin.

 

“Fucking marry me, Granger.  Marry me sooner rather than later and I’ll tirelessly free all the house elves, oh do you like that, kitten?  We’ll christen every room of our home just like this, my fingers between your thighs, perhaps my tongue, yes that’s it, love.  I’ll spank your sweet arse until it's pink, now come.” Draco was incredibly pleased with himself while she convulsed on his fingers, wishing nothing more than to yank down her trousers and fuck her on the table.

 

“He forgot we were here,”  whispered Daphne to her aghast mother.

 

Hermione covered her face with both hands, absolutely mortified, while Draco merely laughed into her hair.  He kissed her cheek, holding her against his chest, unwilling to release her. He didn’t want her to scurry away, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to be caught in a lascivious position.  He glanced over his shoulder at Daphne and shrugged.

 

“At least we’re fully clothed.”

 

Daphne pursed her lips and tapped her foot, irritated with his posturing.  She’d known him since they were in nappies and had assumed he’d eventually mature.  He had, to a certain extent. It seemed his attentions had segued from brooms to knickers, but it was still infuriating.

 

“Daphne, I’d apologise for Draco, but you know better than anyone how he is.”  Hermione ducked from between his arms and wiped her soapy hands on a tea towel.  “Mrs Greengrass, oh uhm, how nice to see you again.”

 

Draco and Daphne snickered, though when faced with Hermione’s glare, they quickly muffled the sounds of their amusement.  They jostled each other in a good-natured sort of way, not that Hermione liked it. A surge of wicked jealousy surged through her and lights over the sink exploded.

 

Hermione gasped sharply and retreated from the others quickly.  She pushed passed Draco and Daphne, successfully avoiding his grappling hands and ran to her bedchamber.  She pressed her cold hands against her hot cheeks and locked herself in the bathroom.

 

“What the fuck was that about?  Sorry Marguerite,” spat Draco.

 

“She was jealous.”  Marguerite Greengrass carefully sat at the small eating table wedged into the corner of the kitchen.

 

It was quaint, to her standards, but it was also welcoming, something her home had always lacked.  Marguerite found she quite enjoyed the mismatched chairs and a sunny kitchen rather than one she hadn’t set foot in for years on end.  She wondered if perhaps Daphne would aid her in procuring a residence not completely dissimilar from this one.

 

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault.  I didn’t think about it. We’ll go and you’ll speak to her and it’ll be alright.”  Daphne prattled nervously until Draco grabbed her shoulders and gave her a bit of a shake.

 

“Granger would want you to stay.  I thought you’d be with your sister and the Aurors.”  Draco frowned, unable to give Daphne his full attention.

 

“I was for a bit, but it was completely unreasonable of the Ministry to expect me to remain in some strange Muggle building with my sister and Pansy.  The Weasley girl was alright, mostly just cried a lot, but I could not listen to them anymore. Besides, Hermione and Lavender didn’t have to stay—“

 

“Granger’s with me, we’re on the fucking Hit Squad for Merlin’s sake and Brown is Potter’s wife and if he can’t look after his own wife well he’s more inept than I first believed.”  Draco snarled angrily, but Daphne merely smirked.

 

“Yes well, I’m here now and like you said, you and Hermione are members of the Hit Squad, therefore I’m perfectly safe.  Now, go and see to her before she gets lost in her own head. Mother and I will make do.” Daphne shoved him and smiled as he scurried away.  

 

While Draco burst into the bedroom, Hermione turned the shower taps and hummed a few bars under her breath.  She stripped off her clothes, tossed them in the hamper, and stepped into the spray. The shower was slick beneath her feet, she slipped, her back struck the icy cold tile, and she was frozen.

 

She was transported to a dinghy alley, harsh breaths against her ear.  Her skirt was tugged, her blouse torn open, and a faceless man manipulated and abused her.  Hermione gagged, finally falling to her knees to wretch over the drain.

 

She stretched her fingers, snagged the bar of soap, and scrubbed her skin.  It stung, her nails digging into her flesh with every swipe of her sudsy hands, but it wasn’t enough.  Hermione refused to cry. She was stronger than that. She wasn’t the sort of woman to fall to tears, but the temptation was great.

 

“Granger?  Where the fuck, oh, there you are.”  Draco yanked open the shower door, frowning while she huddled on her knees in the corner.  “Baby, are you alright?” He squatted, the warm water splashing against him and gently touched her shoulder.

 

“I can feel him.  I can’t wash him off.  I can’t get clean. I can hear him, whispering.  I can feel him touching me, but I can’t see his face.  I don’t know who it was. I can’t get clean.”

 

Draco shucked his pyjamas and stepped into the spray.  Hermione didn’t shrink away from his hands as they reached for her, nor did she lean into them.  She drew ragged breaths as he pushed her hair down her back and uncurled her fingers from the soap and her skin.  She groaned when Draco stood her on her feet, her limbs aching from being slammed against the tile.

 

“Granger,”  whispered Draco, her face held in his hands.  “I want you to marry me.”

 

“Alright doing that,”  she hiccoughed.

 

“The Malfoy name stretches far and wide.  It’s old magic and it affords certain protections to all who hold the name.  I don’t want him or anyone else to ever fucking touch you again. You’re mine.  Yes, you’re a ridiculously accomplished witch in your own right and considering you’re Hermione Granger you belong to no man, except you do.  I want you to marry me, tomorrow.” Draco carefully turned off the taps and pulled her out of the shower, quickly drying her with fluffy cream towels.

 

“Your mother will throw a fit.”  Hermione kept her eyes wide open as she towelled her hair, unwilling to revisit the muddled memories.

 

“We’ll give her a wedding, however, there is nothing stopping us from visiting the Minister and legally solidifying the amended contract.  You wanted me to ask, here I am Granger, asking. Marry me, tomorrow.” Draco ruffled his wet hair and stared at her reflection until she met his gaze.

 

“We’ll need witnesses.”  Hermione turned and ventured into the bedroom, knowing he was quickly following with a silly smile pasted on his lips.

 

“Daphne, ask Daphne.  I’ll owl Weasley and that’ll be that.  Don’t look at me like that. It’s sort of his fault that we’re in this, well I’d say mess, but it’s not really a mess anymore.  When my mother finds out she’ll be furious and I can just say well, Weasley was there, he didn’t tell you? It’ll be fantastic. Let me have this.”  Draco bent and kissed her cheek, which touched her deeply.

 

“Can we do it today?”  Hermione called over her shoulder while she shimmied into black knickers.

 

“Dress faster.”

 

* * *

 

_The sound of the taps torrential flow was louder than expected.  The delectable scented bubbles tickled her nose while she disrobed.  She felt exceedingly naughty as she sunk into the steamy water. Despite the fact she wasn’t a Prefect, it was certainly advantageous to make the right sort of friends._

 

_She giggled and dove beneath the water.  When she rose, her hair was sodden and hung heavily down her back.  She stared at her naked body with a critical eye. Her breasts were passable she supposed, her stomach flat, her arse round, yet it still wasn’t enough for Harry to touch her.  Not that Harry was around anyway with his stupid Auror obsession.  He'd ruined all her plans the moment he decided returning to Hogwarts wasn't for him._

 

_She sighed and took to floating on her back, enjoying the way her pink nipples puckered in the cooler air.  She wanted him to touch her. She saw the way he looked at her whenever she went home for a visit, yet he refrained and it was infuriating.  She’d tried to speak to Hermione about it, but that witch had simply laughed at her, told her to give it time._

 

_She didn’t hear the door creak open.  She didn’t feel the ripple in the water when another body entered the pool.  Instead, she toyed with the bubbles, covering her exposed breasts with them, until she bumped into something hard._

 

_“You’re not supposed to be in here,”  a masculine voice whispered. “Hadn’t enough sense to lock the door, not that I mind.”_

 

_“Y-you don’t belong in here either!  You’re not a Prefect!” She shouted the moment she was upright, hiding amongst the bubbles while edging toward the stairs._

 

_“The advantages of being on the Quidditch team.  There’s more than enough room to share, if you’re up for it.”  He turned away from her and slowly made his way to the opposite end of the pool._

 

_She knew she should probably leave, but she also knew he wouldn’t avert his eyes.  He’d already seen more than enough, therefore she shrugged. He smiled and murmured something, but she couldn’t hear him._

 

_It was only natural to swim closer as he did the same.  There was an arm’s length between them, if that, but she wasn’t afraid of him.  She didn’t particularly like him, but she wasn’t afraid._

 

_“I couldn’t hear you.”_

 

_“I said, Potter doesn’t know what he’s missing.”_

 

_She blushed prettily and looked away.  He reached forward and pushed a handful of bubbles off her shoulder, clearing the water between them.  He eyed her with appreciation and licked his lips. She frowned and stood, her hands on her hips._

 

_“I don’t appreciate your tone.”_

 

_“Sorry, I can’t hear you.  I’m completely distracted by your delicious looking tits.  I think I’d like to have a taste, you don’t mind do you?”_

 

_She squeaked in outrage, anxious to get away from him.  The water impeded her retreat and it wasn’t long before his large hands yanked on her hips.  She struggled, her wet hands slipping against his slick skin, not that it stopped her. She hadn’t meant to moan when he tugged on her nipple with his teeth._

 

_“Stop it right now and I won’t report you.”  She winced as a stone step dug into her back, her hands uselessly pushing against his shoulders._

 

_“I didn’t mean anything untoward, Professor.  She invited me to bathe with her. We shared a lovely evening together and made love beside the bathing pool.  I don’t know why she’s making such allegations against me. I suppose she regrets it now, but I shouldn’t be punished for that, should I?”_

 

_He smiled widely, carefully watching her retreat until she was completely out of the water.  He leant forward quickly and latched onto her thighs with insistent fingers. She pulled on his hands with trembling fingers, yet her whimpers exposed her terror._

 

_“You wouldn’t.  They wouldn’t believe you.”  She gasped as his fingers brushed her sex, suddenly still._

 

_“They would, they definitely would,” he crooned, smiling while she watched his fingers sink into her.  “You like that don’t you?”_

 

_“Please.”  She didn’t know whether she was begging him to stop or continue or anything at all._

 

_“I’m going to make you come.  You’ll be begging me to fuck you when I’m done and perhaps I will.”_

 

_“Wait!”  It was too fast.  Everything was too fast.  It was wrong, terribly wrong.  Her thoughts were hazy, her body willing, but it was him.  She didn’t want him._

 

_He shoved her, hard and her back struck the wet tile.  She grunted and tried to get up but his head was between her legs, his tongue touching her in places she’d never been touched.  It was wrong, so very wrong. She detested him, but it felt so good. She was conflicted, her body betrayed her, and she cried out in mindless shame-filled bliss within minutes._

 

_Her chest heaved and she wanted nothing more than to run from the Prefect’s bath, but then he was between her legs, shoving into her and it stung.  He was rough as he took her, twisting her nipples painfully, ramming his cock into her. His hand reached between them and her lips parted in absolute horror as the same fire burned in her belly until she cried out and he spilt into her._

 

Ginny Weasley awoke soaked in sweat, the hazy memory already fading.  She had to remind herself that she was safe. The Ministry had collected all of the victims, sans Hermione, and they were safe.  They were all safe.

 

She winced as she climbed from the narrow bed and frowned.  Her thighs were sore, bruised even. Her breasts ached something awful and when she stood, she felt fluid drip down her thighs.  Ginny gagged and hastily slipped into her dressing gown.

 

She burst into the corridor, an unfamiliar cry on her lips.  It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. She was safe; she simply needed to find the Auror stationed in the safe house and everything would be fine.

 

“He was here.  He was here.” She chanted while she flung open doors looking for someone, anyone.

 

Mathias Byrnes grumbled and tossed the duvet from his large frame.  He couldn’t believe he’d allowed the bloody Ministry for Magic to saddle him with a couple of screaming bitches.  The brunette wasn’t bad; she usually kept to herself. The little blonde huffed and complained entirely too much for his tastes.  The ginger, however, was the worst of the lot.

 

“There’s no one here you daft bint.”

 

Ginny flung herself into his burly arms, trembling against him.  She was completely unmindful of his morning wood jutting proudly against her abdomen.  She simply kept reminding herself she was safe.

 

“Where are the others?”  She sniffled against his bare chest, her cheek rubbing against the thick matting of dark blonde hair on his chest.

 

“The Auror wives went home with their husbands, the little blonde’s sister claimed she couldn’t leave her mother alone.  Blondie and the bitch went to Diagon Alley and the Aurors went with them. They said I should stay with you.” Mathias rubbed her back, accidentally brushing against her hard arse with his long strokes.

 

Ginny Weasley wasn’t the same strong witch she once was.  She was emotionally battered and bruised, plagued with nightmares that managed to leave evidence littered across her skin.  Her Mind Healers had believed her to be on the precipice of a breakdown, dismissing her claims.

 

She’d turned to sex with strangers to heal her scars, not that it helped.  It didn’t make things worse, in fact, she enjoyed it. For a little while, Ginny was able to pretend she had control over her life, even if it didn’t always feel true.

 

Mathias was nice, for a Squib.  He grumbled and complained, but that was Pansy’s fault.  He’d always looked at Ginny with kindness, even if he did allow his eyes to linger on her cleavage.  It made her feel powerful. She’d often bend low and whisper in his ear, knowing her breasts mesmerized him.  

 

She felt his straining erection against her navel and even his hands gently cupping her arse.  She didn’t mind. If he wanted to stare and even touch a little, it was fine. He kept her safe, far from the faceless wizard that terrorized her dreams.

 

“I think I’m going to fix something to eat.”  Ginny was suddenly uncomfortable with his hulking body so close to hers, especially with the way his left hand travelled up her ribs.

 

“Why don’t you come into the sitting room first and tell me all about the nasty nightmare that frightened you?”

 

Mathias scooped the stiff witch into his arms and stepped into the sitting room, while she shivered.  He closed the door, settled on an oversized armchair, and dragged a heavy quilt over their bodies. He liked that she didn’t squawk at him the way the dark-haired witch did.  He preferred pliable.

 

“You swear no one was here?”  Ginny looked up at him, cosily huddled beneath the quilt.

 

“My brother came by very early this morning to collect the other girls.  He left with them. Now,” he breathed against her cheek, “you want to tell me all about your dream, don’t you?”  Mathias finger combed her hair while he eased her head into the crook of his arm.

 

He watched her eyes dilate, her respirations increase, and stroked her cheek.  Ginny nodded slowly, her mind fuzzy. She was relaxed and calm, just the way he liked.  He reached beneath the quilt, as well as her nightgown, and kneaded her left thigh.

 

“H-he touched me, here.”  Ginny’s monotone voice and long blinks didn’t concern him.

 

She pushed open her dressing gown and plucked open the buttons of her nightgown until it was spread wide.  Mathias pushed open her legs, giddy with excitement. It was the first time he’d ever utilised this particular avenue of hypnosis on a witch and everything was perfect.

 

“Like this?”  He asked and tweaked her nipples.  “What else?”

 

“His fingers, his tongue, his cock; he was everywhere,”  moaned Ginny.

 

“You want it, don’t you?”  Mathias yanked on her cotton knickers, anxious to be inside her.

 

Ginny tore her nightgown over her head, her dressing gown long discarded.  Her eyes were closed, but her movements were quick and sure. She reached into his pyjamas and grasped his cock with an experienced hand before she impaled herself on it, shuddering.

 

Mathias wrapped the fingers of his left hand around her neck, grunting while she bounced on his hard cock, her tits swinging, her lips parted.  He pinched her nipples, ignoring the bruises smattered across her skin. His brother was right. She _was_ a good fuck, a _really_ good fuck.

 

“I’m going to make you come,”  hissed Mathias, his fingers bruising her throat.

 

Ginny Weasley’s eyes flew open, horror written across her face as the haze of his shoddy hypnosis faded into nothingness.  She struggled, her hands gripping his wrist. Mathias thrust upwards, her cries nothing more than muted gurgles. He leant forward until her back struck the hardwoods as they tumbled to the floor.

 

“He was here,”  gasped Ginny, black spots dancing before her eyes.  “I-I remember. I remember everything.”

 

“I watched him fuck you.  You moaned like a Knockturn Alley whore.”  Mathias cackled as he drove into her. “Tonight it’s the loud bitch.  I’d like to give the blonde a go. We’ve got some of that Poly Potion.  I am to trick her, bet she’d be good.”

 

“You won’t get away with this.  I’ll tell them. I’ll tell everyone.”  Ginny cried, her back raw from his brutality.  “We were supposed to be safe. They promised! He works for the fucking Ministry!  He can’t get away with this! He’ll be thrown in Azkaban!”

 

Mathias Byrnes wrapped both of his calloused hands around Ginny Weasley’s throat.  He pounded into her, watching her face turn shades of red while she gasped, desperate to breathe.  He came loud and long, pleased with himself, just before he snapped her neck.

 

“Sorry love, you won’t be telling anyone anything ever again.”

  
  



	18. 18

 

_I already explained this.  I don’t like you. I don’t like most people, but I especially dislike you.  I could start my own religion based on how much I dislike you. - Theo Nott_

* * *

 

Pansy Parkinson loved sex.  She wasn’t afraid to admit it either.  She was the sort of woman that was constantly on the prowl for a willing wizard to scratch her latest itch.  She hadn’t the slightest bit of shame, nor did she believe such mundane feelings were necessary.

 

It wasn’t something she could properly explain to the Ministry officials.  They were easily the most judgemental in all of the Wizarding World, next to her mother, of course.  Their pity would have instantly segued to sneers that dripped with disdain and she’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

 

Pansy had put up quite the fuss when she was stashed away within the dreary walls of Grimmauld Place.  It was ridiculous to expect her to be happy with subpar accommodations, even if it was the former Black residence.  She required opulence and finery, not wailing portraits and boggarts rattling cupboards.

 

The Muggle place wasn’t better, but at least she didn’t have to listen to Black ancestors screeching at all hours.  Instead, it was the Weasley girl sniffling in her sleep and Astoria’s constant whining. It was all shit really, and it didn’t matter how much she complained, nothing changed.

 

She was slightly appeased by regular outings.  They helped some, but not enough. It didn’t matter how hard she tried, Pansy was unable to lose her Ministry mandated escorts.  She was near desperate and probably would have given them a go if she could get Astoria to fuck off. The bloody blonde had attached herself to Pansy’s side much like a leech and there were limits dammit.

 

“This is utter bollocks.”

 

Pansy hissed and wrenched her arm from Astoria’s firm grip.  She wouldn’t be surprised if the Prophet was splashed with their pictures at this rate.  Rita Skeeter, the ever-present annoyance, wouldn’t have the slightest issue with inferring a lesbian relationship between the two; such things happened when engagements were broken.

 

“I miss Draco.”  Astoria sniffled and gazed into the distance with that insipidness of hers.

 

“I miss a good shag, what’s your point?  Do you plan to list all the things we can’t have?  I think that’s rather tedious and unnecessary, but if that’s what makes you happy, have at it.”

 

Zacharias Smith snorted and hurried after the distressed blonde.  He swore it was the worst assignment Potter could have thrown at him and suspected it was yet another guise to keep him out of the way.  Despite the obvious dislike that surrounded him, Smith was good at his job. He enjoyed being an Investigator and he didn’t miss his Auror days in the least.

 

“Nigel, stick with Parkinson.  She seems to hate you less.” Smith laughed without mirth and rolled his eyes heavenward.

 

“She’s a bit prickly, not my cup of tea, not at all.”  Nigel Wolpert pushed his sloppy blond hair from his forehead and sighed.  “I’m not ‘sposed to go off on my own, not as a Junior Auror. You bloody well know it, Smith.”

 

“Aye, but where the fuck is Peasegood?  We’ve got to keep eyes on Parkinson. I’ll snatch Greengrass and we’ll meet at the Leaky in ten.”

 

Zacharias didn’t watch the lanky blond hurry toward the departing brunette witch.  He kept eyes on Astoria and watched her slip into a darkened alcove. He frowned and in his haste, he pushed passed Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.  Smith wrenched the blonde from the alcove, angry she attempted to conceal her location.

 

“Please, don’t.”  Astoria’s voice warbled as she stumbled forward, her eyes never leaving Draco Malfoy’s back.  “I didn’t want them to see me. I wasn’t running off.”

 

Zacharias wasn’t usually the sort of wizard that took pity on anyone, yet there was something about the forlorn witch that altered his testy demeanour.  He offered his arm, waited until he felt her hand. With regret, he turned them toward Flourish and Blotts, knowing Granger had slipped inside.

 

“He was supposed to be mine,”  lamented Astoria.

 

“Alright, enough of that rot.  Malfoy isn’t a fucking house elf.  You can’t simply declare ownership and that’s that.  He’s a human being and has a right to his own choices.  You’re a spoilt Pureblood witch, just set your sights on someone else and I’m positive your daddy will deliver.”

 

Astoria harrumphed and attempted to extricate her hand from the crook of Smith’s elbow, yet the sudden influx of witches and wizards kept her pressed against his side.  Vaguely, she wondered if there was some sort of event scheduled within Diagon Alley. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen so many easily recognisable people.

 

“Seems we missed the memo, Greengrass.”  Smith chuckled at his poor attempt at humour and hurried her along to the Leaky.

 

The pub was near to bursting, the whoops of delight, tinkling of glasses, raucous laughter, and ridiculous singing was more than Astoria could bear.  It was completely unrefined, downright pedestrian even, and she detested every second. She snarled and pushed at the bumbling patrons, desperate for the Floo, but bloody Smith directed her toward a rickety table in the corner.

 

“I want to leave!”

 

“Yeah and I want to be independently wealthy with a harem of supple witches, suppose we’ll just have to settle for butterbeer.”  Zacharias pushed Astoria into the chair nearest the wall and scowled. “Stay here. I’ve got to track down Parkinson and Wolpert.”

 

She crossed her arms and glared at his retreating back, utterly disgruntled.  Astoria discerned from the sounds of the cheers and drunken laughter someone had recently been married.  It should have been her. She should have been deliriously happy with Draco Malfoy on her arm, but everything was ruined now and she blamed that fucking Muggleborn bitch.

 

Astoria had no intentions of waiting for the bloody Aurors to return.  She’d never been fond of limits or instruction for that matter. She drew her hooded cloak over her head, stood, and prepared to disappear in the crowd when strong hands gripped her waist.

 

She gasped, prepared to issue a scathing rebuke, when she spied Pansy with that bumbling Weasley in the midst of the ruckus.  Her blood boiled, her vision blurred, the moment she saw Draco Malfoy wrapped around Hermione Granger, bloody laughing. There she was, completely brokenhearted and he was bestowing affection in public no less.

 

Astoria was jerked backwards, hidden away in the inky black shadows of the corner, a hard body behind her, insistent fingers digging into her hips.  She didn’t struggle, still paralyzed by the scene, a gasp on her lips when Pansy leaned into Ron Weasley’s chest and winked. Everyone had gone mad!

 

“I’ve missed you.”

 

A gravelly voice, hot breath, and a wet tongue teased Astoria’s ear.  Her stomach rolled, her senses finally righting themselves as a large hand covered her mouth and held her still.  She didn’t know how it happened, but her hands were bound behind her back, and the wizard enjoyed flexing his hips to graze his erection against her fists.

 

“Have you gotten better with age?”

 

The wizard hissed, his hand beneath her skirts, sliding along her thigh, his tongue eliciting unwanted shivers as it teased the side of her neck.  Astoria whimpered, struggled even, but there wasn’t much she could do against his ironclad hold. She didn’t scream when his hand slipped from her mouth to tease her breast.  She was completely frozen in horror.

 

“Please,”  Astoria begged, tears mixed with bogies on her cheeks.  “You can’t, you see. My father, it was a spell, to keep me from slagging about.  The uhm, the next wizard that shags me is bound to me in marriage. You should just let me go.”

 

“Interfering bastard spoilt all my fun, didn’t he?  Well then, what sort of husband shall I choose for the prissy little Pureblood?  Oh, the choices are nearly endless. Shall it be Weasley? I’d love to see that, but from the looks of it, Parkinson has sunk her claws into him.  Wait, who is that? Fucking perfect.”

 

Astoria scoured the crowd as much as she was unable, but she didn’t see anything perfect about any of it at all.  She whimpered when the hard wood of a wand was jabbed beneath her chin and closed her eyes. If she was going to die, she didn’t want to see it upon her.

 

“Dedisco.”  The wizard sneered nastily, waiting patiently until the haze of confusion was splashed across Astoria’s pretty face.  “Imperio.”

 

While Astoria mindlessly weaved through the Leaky patrons intent upon seducing Neville Longbottom,  Pansy laughed into Ron Weasley’s chest. She’d always secretly had a thing for gingers, not that she’d ever admit it, but seeing him there, his cheeks flushed from drink and a dopey smile on his lips was all she needed to move in for the kill.  She didn’t care that Malfoy had finally managed to marry his Muggleborn witch. He was Slytherin just as she, and in the end, they always got what they wanted.

 

* * *

 

“Should we stop them?”  Hermione asked delicately.

 

“Why?  It’s hilarious.  Weasley won’t know what hit him.”  Draco chuckled and tugged his new wife into his side.

 

The magic coursing between them was unlike anything he’d ever experienced and he wanted to soak in every moment of it.  It was supposed to remain a secret, their nuptials that is, but a quick jaunt through Diagon Alley, paired with the apparent shine in his eyes and the blush on Hermione’s cheeks seemed to alert everyone they’d ever known that something enormous had happened.  It was only natural to head to the Leaky for celebrations.

 

“Your mother is going to kill us.”

 

“I’d like to pretend she won’t find out, but judging on the size of this crowd, you’re probably right, Granger.”  He pressed a sweet kiss to her cheek, his blood roaring through his veins, his teeth demanding to sink into her skin.  “Can’t stay much longer.”

 

Hermione noted the strain around his eyes and the way his tongue purposely prod his incisors.  She understood to a certain extent, yet she was remiss to leave the festivities. It’d been an unusually long period of time since she’d merely had a bit of fun, yet the magic tugged at her just the same.

 

The front of her incredibly pale blue robes brushed against his trousers and she gasped.  Draco held her in front of him, casually wrapped his arms around her waist, his chin on her shoulder.  He ground against her lightly, groaning as the chafing eased some of the ache.

 

“Is it always going to be like this?  You’re completely insatiable and I do have other things that require my attention.  We can’t skive off work every time you’ve got an itch. We’ve got cases and ermpf—“

 

Hermione’s words remained lodged in her throat as Draco swooped down to cover her lips with his own.  He wasn’t interested in listening to her babble about their responsibilities. He was well aware of what their responsibilities included and right now, his priority was consummating his marriage before his cock burst.

 

“You’re entirely too serious for your own good.  Look at Weasley and Pansy over there, she’s eating his face, not that he minds.  Hell, even Longbottom’s got himself a bird and she’s practically undressing him. I’m not sure they’re going to make it to a room at that rate.”

 

Hermione’s senses were muddled, which in retrospect was strange considering their surroundings.  Ordinarily, she would have been overwhelmed by the varying sights, sounds, and body heat, but she wasn’t.  In fact, every nerve ending directly correlated to Malfoy. Her skin was pebbled with gooseflesh, her exhales a hiss that teased of longing, and he continued to press against her, his hands unyielding on her hips.

 

She averted her face from Ron’s wandering hands as they squeezed Pansy’s backside, only for her dark eyes to widen as she watched Neville being dragged off by his tie.  She blinked and swore she spied Charlie Weasley whispering into Daphne’s ear while the witch giggled.

 

“We need new friends.”

 

“I think,”  Draco breathed into her ear, “we need to learn from them.  They’ve got the right idea. Tomorrow, we can dedicate all the hours in the day to our cases, but tonight, say you’ll be mine.”

 

It was easy to lean into his chest, absorb his warmth.  It was nearly habit for her head to fall to the side, the subtle pleading for his lips, which he was quick to oblige.  Their magic entwined, twisted even, pushed and pulled, delicately flickering, much like a flame.

 

“Do you feel that?  Why does it do that?”

 

Hermione’s head spun as easily as her body, a gentle hum escaping her lips while warm arms enfolded her and held her tight.  She vaguely remembered a time when she couldn’t bear his touch. The unsettling tension thick in the air, a cavernous chasm that nearly tore their department apart, yet had somehow segued into a ridiculously taut string of sexual tension.

 

“My hands are exceedingly warm, can’t pretend I care for that, or even understand it.”  Draco sighed into her hair, his feet moving toward the Floo, his hands consciously tugging his wife.  “I worry sometimes. Mother said my eyes wouldn’t blacken, she was wrong. Mother said the call to mate would dissipate once I marked you, she was wrong.  Was she wrong about the wings and bloody fireballs as well? What if she was wrong about everything?”

 

Hermione stumbled in her peep-toe heels and grasped his wrists.  She studied his palms, her fingertip tracing the lines. They were warmer than usual, yes, but it really wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.  It was easy to blame their magic, the exhilarating situation, their barely dried ink marriage, therefore, she did.

 

“I uhm suppose we’ll figure it out, Malfoy.”

 

Draco smirked; his eyes a dangerously dark shade of grey.  It wasn’t like her to remain answerless in the face of researchable questions.  He quite liked it, found it intrinsically sexy to see his little princess flummoxed.  

 

Draco nipped her throat with a small growl and decided the Floo would take entirely too long.  He refused to entertain the thought of releasing her even for a singular moment. Instead, he reached into the back pocket of his black trousers, withdrew his wand,  and Disapparated.

 

“I hate it when you do that!”

 

Hermione shoved at him, teetering on her heels, her breaths rapid and raspy.  Her curls bounced with a shake of her head to clear the spot of dizziness that always accompanied Apparition.  Her hand clutched at her heart, but then there was only Draco.

 

Draco yanking the pins from her messy updo.  Draco pushing her cloak off her shoulders. Draco gasping against her skin with every breath, drinking in her scent.  Draco dragging the hidden zipper from the top of her spine to the cusp of her arse. Draco’s trembling hot palms against the delicate ties until her icy pale blue robes pooled at her feet.

 

Suddenly, Hermione was inexplicably nervous, even as she stared at the familiar four-poster bed.  The moonlight cast shadows on the bedding and she gulped noisily, filled with trepidation. She flinched, eyes closed, palm against the feather duvet as she listened to his trousers strike the floor.

 

“Hermione.”

 

A whisper she was certain she’d misheard, until once more it graced her ringing ears.  She felt it then, the stinging heat of his hands, even as she tumbled to the bed. Her magic simmered beneath the surface, desperate to swirl around his, causing an ache that weakened her limbs.

 

“I asked her,”  whimpered Hermione.  “I asked her. She said the mating was a myth, but I don’t, I don’t believe her.”

 

Draco gasped, groaned even, and braced his weight on his elbows as he hovered over her.  His bare skin seared, screaming for the intimacy he denied it. It was different this time.  It wasn’t like the others when he could barely contain himself before sinking into her.

 

She was no longer merely a hurried shag against the nearest hard surface until his knees sagged.  She wasn’t stolen kisses laced with mind-altering confusion. She was his wife. _His wife._  Hermione Granger was more than his co-worker, his partner.  She was, she had become his life, and it terrified the fuck out of him.

 

* * *

 

Neville Longbottom was an unassuming wizard.  He always had been. He had also finally grown into his own, but it took quite some time.  When he was a child, he was a bumbling sort of oaf, timid, uncomfortable in his own skin, and often doubted his Sorting.  He hadn’t felt like a Gryffindor. He hadn’t felt courageous or brave, or any of those things.

 

It was different now, of course.  He exuded a confidence he rarely felt due to that singular moment of bravery that altered everything.  He was the wizard that sliced off Nagini’s head. He had faced Voldemort and encouraged the others to keep fighting.  It was small in the grand scheme of things, but it was something he supposed.

 

He’d worked beside Harry and Ron to capture the remaining Dark Wizards, but Neville hadn’t found his fulfilment being an Auror.  It was an honourable career, but it wasn’t for him. He preferred the welcoming walls of Hogwarts and his plants.

 

Herbology made him feel brilliant and he needed that more than anything.  He desperately yearned for something that would make his parents proud. Neville was old enough to know such things would never come to pass, but in some ways, he was still sort of a child, merely seeking acceptance.

 

Neville hadn’t wanted to have drinks at the Leaky, but Ron had insisted.  He didn’t see the point in it, not really. The witches always flocked to the Aurors and he was often left alone in a dark corner nursing his pint.  It didn’t bother him, though. He knew they didn’t see him as he was; only as he had been.

 

“This is stupid.”

 

Neville grunted as he was jostled between two Weasleys.  The air was thick and filled with the heady spice of firewhiskey.  It was near impossible to have a word with anyone as the tinkling of glasses and rowdy laughter filled his ears.

 

“Come on Longbottom, live a little.  Bet there’s a feisty witch just begging for a bit of what you’ve got.”

 

Charlie Weasley jabbed his elbow none too lightly into Neville’s side, long red hair swinging, dangling dragon hanging from his left ear as he took a long draught from his pint.  The bitter cold didn’t faze him in the least. It was nothing compared to the frigid temperatures of Romania.

 

“Why are we here?”  

 

“Malfoy and Hermione snuck off to the Ministry to get hitched.  Don’t know why they believed they’d get away with it,” laughed Charlie.  “We’re here to celebrate! Drinks on me!”

 

Neville stared into the welcoming brown pool of his pint and sighed.  He’d heard the rumours, everyone had. Apparently, Malfoy had a bit of Veela in him or some such rot.  He’d set his sights on Hermione and after that, well, it was only a matter of time before she became a Malfoy as well.  He didn’t understand the need to celebrate it. He actually felt a little sorry for Hermione. She’d always been kind to him and Malfoy, well, he was always sort of a wanker.

 

“Oi, who’s that?  She’s got quite the bum.”  Ron tossed back a tumbler of firewhiskey and blearily glanced over the array of witches with a keen eye.

 

“Parkinson.”  Neville offered with a half-laugh.

 

“Really?  I think it’s only polite to say hello.”

 

Charlie half laughed, half snorted into his pint while he watched Ron push his way toward the brunette witch with the lovely arse.  He fully expected his youngest brother to return utterly defeated, perhaps with a hand-shaped red blotch on his cheek. It had been known to happen, especially after Ron got into his cups.

 

“She’s actually talking to him.”

 

“Gods, she’s leaning into him and everything.”

 

“His hand is on her arse!”  Charlie leaned into Neville’s side, his eyes wide in utter disbelief.

 

Neville remained silent, the small empty pieces of his heart twanging as a gentle reminder they still existed.  He’d had a fair amount of interest in a handful of witches, but nothing had ever come from it. It probably would have given him many a sleepless night if he’d spent any time thinking about the reasons behind the subtle rejections, but he hadn’t.  

 

“Good for him then.”  Neville flashed Hermione a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes, an overwhelming tidal wave of loneliness swept over him even as he watched Malfoy kiss the top of her head.  “Think I’m gonna call it a night.”

 

“Longbottom, there’s a blonde eyeing you.  Don’t look, just keep nursing your pint. There’s a dark-haired beauty that’s caught my eye.”  Charlie growled, his teeth bared and a sparkle in his eye.

 

“That’s Daphne Greengrass.  I’d be—“

 

Neville shook his head, his words lost in a particularly loud screech while Charlie swaggered toward the demure Pureblood near the window.  It was just as he said it would be. He was sat alone on a barstool, sipping his pint.

 

He listened to the cacophony of celebrations with half an ear.  He hadn’t the slightest desire to watch Ron Weasley’s tongue thrust into Pansy Parkinson’s mouth.  It turned his stomach a bit, to be honest. He didn’t care that Draco Malfoy was smiling, fucking smiling of all things, or that Hermione Granger was now Hermione Malfoy if the gossip could be believed.  He just didn’t care and—

 

“Hi.”

 

Neville blinked, glanced behind him, expecting a terribly handsome wizard with a cheeky smile to be standing behind him.  The blonde witch repeated her salutation and giggled as she slowly invaded his space. Her perfectly manicured pink fingernails slid up his hard chest, eliciting a shudder, until they came to rest on his broad shoulders.

 

“I think maybe you’re confused.”

 

Neville attempted to be gentlemanly, but it was exceedingly difficult with a warm, willing, flirtatious witch leaning into him.  Her waves tickled his nose, her breath was warm against his ear, and his trousers were suddenly too tight.

 

“You’re Neville Longbottom,” she breathed.  “You’re a war hero, a former Auror, and the current Herbology Professor at Hogwarts.  I’ve been watching you and I think you’re the sexiest bloke in the entire pub.”

 

Neville studied her eyes and noticed they were glassy, though it was anyone’s guess if it was from entirely too much libation or the clouds of smoke in the air from celebratory cigars.  She licked her lips, fisted his striped tie and he was lost.

 

“I was nearly positive you were enamoured with Malfoy.”  His large hands gripped her waist under the guise of pushing her away, yet he dragged her between his knees instead.

 

Astoria Greengrass had never been taught how to resist the Imperius, not that she was trying.  Longbottom was easy on the eyes, concerned as to her mental faculties, and she found that endearing.  There were worse wizards to shag. She would know. She’d probably shagged them.

 

“I’ve heard that Muggles say you shouldn’t cry over spilt milk.  I’ve never cried over milk, but I’ve spent entirely too much time crying over a wizard that was never mine.  I think I’d like to forget I wasted the time. Would you care to help me with that?”

 

Neville wanted to speak.  He tried to speak, lips parted, tongue flicked along the edges, and yet there was nothing but silence.  His eyes were drawn to the creamy swells of her cleavage as she thrust her chest forward. His fingers itched to touch them, to taste them, not that he would ever be quite that forward.

 

“How could I possibly?”  He finally managed, his voice at least a full octave higher than normal.

 

Astoria fisted his tie and tugged until their lips nearly touched.  Sweat broke across his brow, his cheeks flushed, and gods be damned if she didn’t find that endearing as well.  Neville was sweet and she deserved sweet.

 

He watched from the safety of a darkened corner as Astoria Greengrass happily dragged Neville Longbottom toward the staircase.  He smiled nastily for a moment and chuckled lightly. Strangely, an insistent pang of guilt continued to plague him and it wasn’t long before he ascended the stairs in search of his puppet.

 

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

 

“We don’t have to do anything if you like.  We could uhm have a chat and a cup of tea.”

 

“You’re achingly sweet and I don’t know what to make of you.  Should I tear off your clothes, shove you onto the bed, and shag you senseless?  Should I protect you from the harsh world and snuggle into your chest before a crackling fire?  I don’t know what to do with you.”

 

“I’m quite partial to the first option if my opinion means anything.”

 

He listened to Astoria’s light laughter and flicked his wand.  He sort of expected her to burst through the door, utterly embarrassed, perhaps sobbing in humiliation.  She didn’t. He pressed his ear to the door and frowned at the silence.

 

“Oh yes, just like that,”  Astoria crooned, her breathy voice laced with a ragged moan.

 

“I wish I hadn’t heard that.”  He gagged and ambled down the steps, desperate for another pint or twelve until his ears recovered from the sounds of copulation.

 

He had an itch that needed to be scratched, but his favourite playthings were preoccupied.  It really was a pity. He supposed the Weasley girl would do, but he didn’t enjoy it as much when they were compliant.  It destroyed the anticipation and the pleasure.

 

He tipped his hat toward his coworkers and hurried toward the Floo.  He had an itch to scratch and it wouldn’t wait. He had plans to formulate and punishments to deliver.  They would pay. They would all pay and with their dying breaths, then and only then would they know it was he that had sent them careening to destruction.


	19. 19

_I find pleasure in the pain.  – Daphne Greengrass  
_

 

* * *

 

She couldn't think.  She couldn't breathe.  She could only feel. Her porcelain skin flushed as their combined magic crackled in the air.  Her cheeks were damp from the continuous stream of tears, completely overcome with the sensation of his skin against hers.

The hearth was filled with embers long since burnt to dust, yet she wasn’t chilled to the bone.  She was aware of the rain splashing against the window panes, vaguely; a small reminder of her tenuous grasp on reality.  Spots; blood red, plum, murky black, danced beneath her eyelids.

“I can’t.  I can’t,” she cried, her bee-stung lips tingling with every nip.

Her thighs ached, the pressure of his weight bearing down on her, rocking her with its mind-numbing hypnotism.  Her ankles low on his hips, her fingers slipped and slid down his slick back, desperate to seek purchase.

“This is it, Granger.”  Draco groaned against the crook of her neck, “you and me at the end of the day, for always.”

“It’s too fast.  It’s too much. It’s illogical.”

Hermione whined as each thrust of his hips set her on fire.  When had it happened, she wondered. When had he become more than her partner, more than her friend?  How did she make it stop? Did she want it to stop? It was insanity, wasn’t it? She couldn’t…love him, could she?

“Stop fighting it.  I can feel it, fuck it hurts.  Must you always be so bloody stubborn?  Accept it already, woman.”

“Have you?”  Hermione tossed her head from side to side, her body begging for release.

“Marked you.  Married you. Currently making love to you.  What else do you need?”

He watched her shudder, felt the ripples as she clenched around him.  Her wanton moans were music to his ears. He shivered, the electricity of their magic, of his impending orgasm, crashed together with his erratic thrusts.  His teeth sought purchase against her mark as he spilt into her, finally, finally sated.

He felt his teeth retract and licked his lips, content for the first time in ages.  He liked the way she held him still, her thin arms locked around his neck. He liked hearing the exertion in her breaths, her cheek pressed to his, her eyes closed.

“Love me,” she whispered finally, unsure.  “I need you to love me.”

 

* * *

 

“What is happening?  What the fuck is happening?!”

It wasn’t often the Minister for Magic lost his temper, but under the current circumstances, it was understandable.  His assistant was on her knees shouting during a Floo Call, his secretary was dodging Howlers, the Wizengamot was clamouring for immediate investigatory sessions, and it felt like the end of the fucking world.  He wasn't prepared for the sort of mayhem that accompanied Muggle terrorists and Wizard accomplices.

“The Apothecary in Diagon Alley has been engulfed in Fiendfyre, the On-Duty Aurors are on scene.  The Head of the Children’s Charity Fund—“

“Minister!  The Muggle Minister demands an audience immediately!  The Muggles have uncovered a series of explosive devices, the likes of which they’ve never seen!”  Percy Weasley’s chest heaved, his frizzy red hair larger than life as he delivered the message.

Kingsley’s teacup shattered in his meaty fist, the vein in his forehead pulsated.  The insistent chatter blended together until he couldn’t make sense of it. He was in over his head.  The Wizarding World was at risk and while it wasn’t the threatened annihilation that came with Voldemort, it was ominous, to say the least.

“Helga, remain in contact with Robards and Williams.  They are authorized to recall all Aurors and Hit Wizards to duty to contain the threat.  Percy, inform the Muggle Minister I will be arriving shortly. I will require a compiled list of reasonable suspects and at this point, unreasonable as well.”

Madness and mayhem.  It was absolute chaos, the likes of which he’d never seen and he’d seen plenty.  He’d seen the Ministry fall for Merlin’s sake and yet the influx of catastrophe combined with Muggle hysteria was overwhelming, to say the least.  Kingsley practically ran through the corridors, focused on his tasks, unmindful of what lay within the shadows.

"Minister?  Have you considered sending a team to retrieve Lucius Malfoy?"  Zacharias Smith intercepted the Minister on the way to the lift, anxious to seem important.

"Why on earth would I do that?  The Investigation cleared Malfoy of involvement and numerous eyewitness accounts—" Kingsley snarled and refused to continue his train of thought.  He was overwhelmed, for obvious reasons, and it was a fucking disaster.

“Yes, sir, however, even you must admit it’s a bit curious the Apothecary would be consumed with Fiendfyre after his son entered negotiations with the proprietor to purchase it.  We all know Malfoy and Granger are involved and—“

“Fine, yes, if you caught sight of him, bring him directly to interrogation.  I haven’t the time to discuss this further.” Kingsley nodded curtly and wiped the sweat from his brow, desperate to escape the suddenly stifling Ministry.

He was there.  He was always there, not that they noticed.  He smirked as the Minister for Magic raced past him and nodded in polite salutation.  He was disregarded as he often was but it no longer caused the fires of rage to burn within him.

It was his brother’s fault.  He wouldn’t have gone off the rails if his brother hadn’t strangled the Weasley bint to death.  He had plans, perfect plans. He wasn’t supposed to implement them all at once, but gods, he had been utterly furious.

He had to move quickly.  He had to hide that fucking body.  He was so close he could taste it and he wouldn’t allow anything or anyone derail his plans.

It was easier than expected to Disillusion her blue-tinged body and stuff her in the Apothecary's storage room.  The Fiendfyre would destroy all the evidence if he was lucky, but luck hadn't been on his side lately. The Minister wasn't nearly as frazzled as he would have preferred and as he watched Shacklebolt in action it almost made him think the Minister was a formidable opponent, almost.

He liked the way the Ministry workers scurried out of his way.  He was important, for the moment, and it exuded a certain amount of respect laced with power.  He did like to feel powerful.

The explosives were his brother’s idea but it was quite brilliant.  He hadn’t an honest distaste for Muggles but his brother did. He supposed it was years of resentment wrapped in a pretty bow of vicious insanity, not that he cared.  His brother was easily malleable and he often wondered what would have happened if they had been raised together.

He resented his parents for their decisions.  He harboured animosity toward them despite their death but even so, he would avenge them.  It was the least he could do. They hadn't given him away and while he had missed his brother when he was small, he understood.  They had been meticulous in their rearing and seen to his every need.

It wasn’t his fault his brother was tossed into the proverbial bin and yet, he felt responsible to a certain extent.  He had been born with magic and his parents had lavished him in love; albeit their ideas of affection were nonexistent, but they tried.  He found them quite smothering when he was small, but now, as an adult, he understood.

They were Pureblood after all and birthing a Squib was quite the scandal, quite the shame, and they couldn’t bear it.  The new world would have been aghast at their behaviours but even the bloody Weasleys had a Squib in their ranks. They hid him away in the Muggle world and he was barely a footnote in their history.

Bitter tears pricked his eyes as he sought to find the Minister in the crowded Atrium.  They were innocent, his parents. They were never Death Eaters, never dabbled in the Dark Arts.  They taught him to be proud of his heritage and to remain above reproach. He knew he was conceited as well he should be.  His parents chose to keep him, which made him special.

He knew they shouldn’t have absconded during the War.  The Order wasn’t the least bit interested in them until they left.  They were afraid, he knew they were afraid, and he understood it. He was terrified as well and he fucking remained.  He did the best he could and it wasn’t good enough.

He stifled an angry sob as he recalled the contrite Minister for Magic extending his condolences.  Kingsley had the nerve to inform him his parents went peacefully, as if that would aid his grief. Apparently, his father had been eating in the garden and his mother plucking flowers when the Death Eaters barged through the mediocre wards.  Shouts were heard. Threats were made. Hexes were thrown. The Aurors arrived and rather than analyze the situation, they entered the fray without regard for anyone at all.

The Minister informed him that the Auror that cast the Killing Curse against his mother had been dismissed, but it didn’t bring her back.  It didn’t heal the gaping wound within his chest. It merely fueled the simmering rage and was the very day his plan was born.

It was only later, much later, that he discovered the meticulous records that detailed his brother’s existence.  They had cared for him, loved him even, but still, they gave him away. They were ashamed and allowed their shame to shroud their love.

It was unforgivable to some, but not to him.  It was simply what was done with an embarrassment.  It worked to his advantage. He doubted he could have hoodwinked his brother otherwise.  Unforgivables were still frowned upon, prosecuted even, if one was unlucky enough to get caught.  He wasn’t, not yet and he planned to keep it that way.

“Wolpert, you’re supposed to be shadowing Dawlish, what the fuck are you doing here?”

He lost sight of the Minister in his efforts to avoid the influx of Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Investigators.  He was so close, he couldn’t be discovered, not yet. He stood slightly behind a portly wizard and eavesdropped in order to garner information.  It was merely one of his many talents and it had served him well thus far.

“Peasegood said—“

“Peasegood?  Arnie Peasegood?  Why on earth would he be directing you anywhere?  You’re an Auror Wolpert, Peasegood is a Hit Wizard, I’m your bloody superior, now what did I tell you?”  Theo Nott spoke to poor Nigel Wolpert as though he were an imbecile and it was well deserved.

“Zabini and I were assigned to Dawlish and Weasley, but Potter snagged Zabini on account of his experience with Fiendfyre and they were sent out to Diagon Alley.  Dawlish said he hadn’t the time to deal with me and sent me to Peasegood,” Nigel rattled off the information quickly. “Peasegood said to monitor the Atrium and left me here.”

Nigel maintained his stance, carefully scrutinizing every passerby, just as he was taught.  He felt important when left to his own devices. He knew he was merely a Junior Auror but responsibility aided his self-esteem.  Of course, shagging a beautiful witch didn't hurt either and he was a bit anxious to return to her.

“Fine, remain here.  There’s been a report Lucius Malfoy is in the building.  He might have been cleared of the Borgin and Burkes explosion but him being here now is suspicious considering Diagon Alley is under evacuation.  If you happen to see Smith—“

“I’m right fucking here, Nott.  Dawlish was bobbing and weaving through the crowd trying to avoid me for whatever reason.  What the fuck is happening?” Zacharias Smith rubbed his forehead, dark eyes scouring the increasing crowd.

“The world is ending you fucking ponce, come on then!”

Theo snarled and yanked on the collar of Smith’s robes, anxious to herald into the fray.  He ignored Smith’s eye roll and mutterings beneath his breath. He hadn’t the time nor the inclination to reprimand the wanker.  He was an impressive Investigator but he would have done nearly anything to be an Auror. His application was denied due to his father and he was grateful to have employment at all.

He wouldn’t stand idly by while terror weaved its tangled web through his world, not again.

 

* * *

 

He was hot, incredibly hot and fairly certain he was sticky as well.  His face was covered in damp curls and he carefully extracted them from between his lips.

The warm body beside him groaned in slumber and the last thing he wanted to do was wake her.  His entire body was sore, places ached that he hadn’t known even existed. His new wife was fucking insatiable and it would have pricked his manly pride to admit he absolutely could not shag her again.

He slipped from the bed slowly, carefully, and held his breath as her brows pinched into a sleepy frown.  The position was awkward to maintain, one leg precariously on the bed, the other on the floor, but he managed until she sighed and rolled to her side.

Food.  He definitely required food.  Visions of hotcakes danced in his eyes and he nearly whistled a jaunty tune, nearly.  He escaped quietly, practically utilising his tiptoes in order to maintain the quiet.

He set the kettle on the cooktop, slightly disgruntled he’d have to settle for a mere cup of tea when he wanted to eat the world.  He had unleashed a monster and it was glorious as much as it was terrifying.

He stretched his arms over his head and shuddered in relief as his bones cracked and popped into place.  He blinked and bit back a sleepy yawn as a pretty little barn owl fluttered into their suite. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the glaringly red envelope clasped within its beak.

He leapt for it, stumbled over an armchair, and cursed as he missed.  The ruddy owl dropped the envelope onto the bed and had the audacity to nudge it until the seal broke.  It was his mother. He knew it was his interfering, infuriating mother.

_“How could you!  You have ruined everything!  What am I supposed to do now?  Do you have any idea how much time, money, and planning has gone into the perfect wedding?  Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Selfish, Draco, utterly selfish! I demand your presence within the hour!”_

“We knew she’d be angry but a Howler is just rude,” Hermione moaned beneath the safety of her pillow.

“At least you don’t have to go and put up with her.  I don’t want to go! I’m hungry! I’m fucking exhausted!”  Draco shouted.

“You’re whinging.”

“Yes, yes I am!  I’m not the least bit sorry either.  I only managed an hour of sleep for Merlin’s sake.  Why is she doing this to me?”

Draco crawled into bed, the kettle long forgot.  He snuggled into his wife's bare back and his traitorous cock twitched once it was nestled against her bum.  Hermione, minx that she was, pushed back and he nearly cried.

“I can’t.  I really can’t.  I need food. I need rest.  I didn’t know my bollocks could ache from overuse.  If you’re not pregnant it’ll be a miracle.”

Hermione refused to have the same conversation again.  She didn’t feel ready to be a mother, she really didn’t.  She also didn’t want to have a brood like the Weasleys either.  She loved her job, less than she once had, but the idea of being nothing more than an incubator left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Don’t fall asleep now, your mother will send another Howler, or worse she’ll send an elf to retrieve you.”

"Don't think I didn't notice the way you avoided that, Granger," Draco grumbled and vacated the bed again.  "I know you think my mother wants to turn you into some perfect little society wife or whatnot, but that's not what I want."

“What do you want then?”  Hermione snapped. “You’re obviously anxious for an heir and—“

“I never said heir,” he interrupted.  “I said child. I don’t care if we have all girls.  The Veela bits don’t care either. It’s a drive, a need, to procreate but I want it.  I also want to purchase that Apothecary in Diagon Alley and I’m toying with the idea of some sort of Potions company.  I’m tired of the Ministry. I’m tired of chasing after dangerous criminals. I’m good at it but I don’t enjoy it. I think it would be sort of nice if we worked together outside the Ministry.”

Draco spooned some tea leaves into two chipped china teacups and poured water over them while he avoided her probing gaze.  It was his secret and it felt strange sharing it with anyone, even if she was his wife. He carried the teacups to the bed and held his breath, bracing himself for her rejection.

“I’d need to hear your business plan.  I can’t make a decision without being properly informed.  I’m assuming you have some sort of business model and investors or at least an idea of—“

Draco smiled as he offered her the cream and sugar.  He had her and he knew it. She would put up a fuss, perhaps she’d sigh and moan a bit.  She’d get after him for his laziness and claim he should have included her from the beginning, but in the end, he had her.

“There’s an entire file in my office at home, er at my flat.  We need a home, Granger.”

“One with space for a Potions lab and perhaps a small greenhouse as well.  I’m sure Neville could help us with seedlings and care, especially for the herbs that are difficult to import.  There’s no sense in paying astronomical prices if we can grow and harvest them ourselves.” She nodded thoughtfully and he could see her fingers twitching from the desire for a quill and some parchment.

Hermione winced at the temperature of her tea as she swallowed.  She hadn’t the time to lazily enjoy her morning cup of tea and bit of toast.  There was much to do and even more to plan. She could barely contain herself.

“Alright well, I suppose I’ve got to deal with my mother.  How on earth did we wind up back at the Leaky?” Draco glanced around the space, obviously confused.

He sneered at his wrinkled clothes, thankful his shirt still had buttons.  He frowned until he saw the little smirk on her lips. Obviously, she’d repaired the mess she’d made and he was thankful for it as he yanked on his trousers and buttoned his shirt.

“Our friends decided to surprise us and well, you said something along the lines of fuck all of this, and Apparated us here.”  Hermione smiled and offered her cheek for the press of his lips.

“Sounds about right.  I’m off, love you.”

Hermione froze as his words permeated her thoughts.  She gasped, swallowing hard, her heart thudding furiously beneath her breast.  She searched for him with wild eyes but he was gone.

Draco landed just outside the wards of Malfoy Cottage and felt a bit ill.  His head throbbed, his stomach reeled, and it wasn’t long before he had decorated his mother’s topiaries with rancid bile.  It had been ages since Apparition had affected him in that manner and then it struck him.

“I told her I loved her.  Oh, my gods, I told her I loved her and then I left.  Bollocks.”

Draco groaned, cursing his loose lips as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  In retrospect, he was glad he wasn’t there to witness her reactions. She was probably stunned silent, which would have been nice to see, but he didn’t wish to see the light fade from her eyes.  He didn’t want to hear her stammering and logical explanations as to why she couldn’t return his sentiments.

He didn’t wish to visit with his mother either and he couldn’t decide which was worse.  He’d made a bit of a mess of things and he wasn’t certain his mother would forgive him for this blunder.  He wasn’t sorry. He couldn’t be sorry, not when he’d finally acquired Granger. She was his and there was nothing anyone could do about it, not even his parents.  It was perfect, almost.

“I sent your mother to Rosa Lee Teabag.”  Lucius perused his son with obvious disdain as he doted on his beloved white peacocks.  “She is less likely to hex you when surrounded by those chattering old biddies she calls friends.  You may thank me later.”

“I’m not going alone.  You’re coming with me. There are times in one’s life when a son must admit he needs his father and this is one of those times.”  Draco avoided the ruddy peacocks and managed to maintain a scowl.

Lucius glared at his son, his upper lip twitched and yet, in the end, he nodded.  He supposed it was the least he could do. He hadn't meant to snicker at the Evening Prophet as his son's hands roved the Muggleborn's arse.  The photograph amused him, especially after imbibing entire too much firewhiskey. It certainly didn’t help matters with his wife and he was nearly hexed.  The least he could do was aid his son, but he’d be damned if he was drinking fucking tea.

He offered his arm and for a moment, a slight moment, he was transported to when Draco was small.  The grey eyes that mirrored his own gazed up at him, entrusting him completely. It made him feel rather sentimental and suddenly, the prospect of half-blood grandchildren wasn’t nearly as bleak.

 

* * *

 

“Is that Longbottom?”  Draco blinked once, twice, three times, and rubbed the exhaustion from his bloodshot eyes.

He eyed his father’s tumbler of firewhiskey enviously and forlornly sipped his tea.  He didn’t want tea. He didn’t want to be stuck in a bloody teahouse with his mother and her cronies either.  He wanted to be safely tucked betwixt his wife’s thighs, but his mother’s Howler had destroyed that notion.

"Oh, I do believe so.  The witch beside him looks quite enamoured considering the blush on her cheeks.  It's lovely to see such innocence, especially these days." Narcissa pursed her lips and gripped her teacup, obviously still perturbed.

“This is pointless,” Draco groaned.  “Why am I here?”

He hissed from the force of his father’s elbow and glared.  He was good at glaring these days, especially where his parents were concerned.

“Is that, is his hand on her knee?  My, that’s quite forward of him, isn’t it?”  The wrinkled blue-haired witch tittered quietly and Draco wished her dead.

Draco closed his eyes and refrained from asking Mrs Shriveled Bint the last time anyone had touched her anywhere.  His father snorted and Draco realised he wasn’t alone in his disgruntled thoughts; he was merely alone in the tea drinking.

“She doesn’t seem to be objecting and if my eyes don’t deceive me, her hand just covered his.”

"Ah, the joys of young love, nearly makes me wish I was young again."  Narcissa clasped her hands together and sighed the sigh of a woman reliving her youth.

Draco scoffed with a roll of his eyes and leaned toward his mother.  “You do realise they shagged last night, yes?”

“Don’t ruin it, Draco.”  Narcissa sneered at him over the top of her teacup, “you’ve ruined enough lately, haven’t you?”

Lucius harrumphed and thumped his cane on the floor in warning.  It would never do to have a row concerning their personal affairs in public.  He had discussed it at length with his wife, however, when her temper flared, it seemed her Pureblood sensibilities did as well.

“We aren’t discussing me!  I don’t have to take this. I’m going home to my wife.”  Draco’s chair scraped across the worn floor and he didn’t offer his mother or her friends a backward glance.

“Such a petulant boy, even after all this time.  He would benefit from Longbottom’s influences.”

Lucius sniffed with affected disdain and returned his attention to his tumbler of dwindling firewhiskey.  In an uncustomary show of affection, he grasped his wife’s hand and squeezed lightly. It would placate her for now but if Draco and his new wife did not submit to Narcissa’s demands of grandeur, there would be hell to pay.


	20. 20

_I love you, but I hate you.  I miss you, but I’m better off without you.  I want you out of my life, but I never want to let you go. – Harry Potter_  


* * *

 

As the morning sun broke through the clouds, she gazed at the empty place beside her.  It had been empty for months with no end in sight. Her anger, her tears, her begging and pleading, fell on deaf ears.

 

Of course, it didn’t stop him from shagging her when his little bit of arse on the side wasn’t available.  Yes, she knew he had strayed. She would have forgiven him that; she would have forgiven him anything. She loved him and while she had ensnared him under somewhat false pretences, it was merely her own insecurities that had led her down such a path.

 

“Did you lie to me?”  He asked, his face pinched as he studied her eyes.

 

She swallowed with difficulty and closed her eyes.  She hadn't lied, not really. She had been foolish and had easily believed her friends rather than seeking facts.  Her mother had instructed her to demand matrimony immediately as the last thing she wished was to have shame heaped on their family.  She hadn't pressed him and even now, she regretted her haste.

 

“No, but I should have waited.  I shouldn’t have contacted you. I should have spoken with St Mungo’s and waited for the results.  I still would have spoken with you and perhaps our relationship would have ended there. I’ve tried to make it up to you.  I’ve tried to be a good wife. I know I’m insecure. I know I’m insanely jealous. I know I’m many things, but Harry, I’m trying.”

 

“The Minister has rejected my application for Dissolution of Marriage.  He claims there isn’t sufficient cause, despite my admitted infidelity. The Ministry has suggested Marriage Therapies just like you said.”

 

Lavender Brown Potter refrained from gloating and it was difficult.  She’d won half the battle without doing anything at all. She’d remained quiet and downright demure.  She’d created elaborate meals and ate them alone while Harry shagged Luna Lovegood.

 

“I’m sorry,” she offered.

 

“Are you though?  Are you really? I feel like you’re not.”

 

Lavender sighed.  It seemed she was constantly sighing, which was better than beating her husband with the kettle.  She buttered her toast and formulated her thoughts. She was angry but also so very bloody tired of his shit attitude.

 

“I used to be sorry.  In fact, I used to hate myself and you definitely didn’t help things.  I was young but we were both stupid. I tried too hard, you didn’t try at all, and now you’re shagging someone else.”  She shrugged and nibbled her toast.

 

“How did you know that?” Harry sputtered.

 

It wasn’t a denial, at least he gave her that much.  He didn’t posture and tell her that she was imagining things, and she appreciated it.  She had earned the right to the truth even if it would be heartbreaking to listen to it fall from lips.

 

“Oh, Harry.  Did you honestly take me for a fool?  Did you think I wouldn’t notice the only time you warm my bed is after a hurried, whispered Floo Call?  Your powers of observation leave much to be desired as far as your wife is concerned.”

 

Harry blinked as if noticing her for the first time.  She was pretty. She was always pretty but something was different.  Her face was devoid of makeup. Her nightwear could only be called demure.  She was different, and he hadn’t even noticed in his quest for freedom.

 

“I’ve been preoccupied with work,” Harry justified.  “We’ve got a bloody maniac on the loose for Merlin’s sake.  You can’t expect me to notice everything at home when Diagon Alley is on fire.”

 

Lavender pursed her lips, arched an eyebrow, and tented her fingers over her plate.  She waited until Harry ceased his bitter Auror fuelled tirade, slightly amused by his antics.  Harry had always been the sort of man to deflect. Nothing was ever truly his fault.

 

"Did you know I'm seeing a new Healer?  No, I imagine not. I left you a note about it.  I wasn't particularly thrilled to discover my Healer is sleeping with my husband.  It sort of made my imagination run wild, as I'm sure you can imagine. I mean, I've shared intimate details with her, even before we were married.  Did I ever tell you that she gave me some strange Potion after I told her I was pregnant?" Lavender placed her empty plate in the sink basin and glared at her husband with hard eyes.  "She said it would strengthen my body, but that wasn't true, Harry."

 

“What are you saying?”

 

Lavender shook her head, dark blonde curls bouncing across her shoulders, and sniffed.  She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t mean to share secrets she’d held close for years.  He deserved the truth and yet, it seemed her idiocy would be highlighted more than the actions of his lover.

 

“Hannah Abbott is a Healer now; did you know that?  She’s taken over my care as it seems Healer Lovegood has been derelict in her duties due to her naughty shop.”  Lavender grimaced as the name tasted bitter on her tongue.

 

“Are you trying to tell me that Luna did something to you?”  Harry’s voice cracked, and she was unsure if his concern was for her or the subtle accusations against his mistress.

 

“I honestly can’t say for certain.  I _can_ say that while I convalesced at St Mungo's after the Final Battle, it was discovered I have an acute allergy to salamander blood.  The Healers were forced to administer numerous Potions to keep me alive after I ingested large quantities of Strengthening Solution on their orders.  It's in my chart. Perhaps you can tell me why Healer Lovegood would offer a Potion with just enough salamander blood to end my—“

 

“Stop it!”  Harry shouted.  “She didn’t, she wouldn’t do that.”

 

“I don’t know if she did or she didn’t, honestly,” Lavender sighed.  “I do know there were traces in my system. Hannah told me. She asked me if I’d taken any Potions regularly.”

 

“Did you?”  Harry snapped, yet his fire was waning.

 

“I have tea every week with Luna.  I-I thought we were friends.”

 

Harry pushed away from the table and stepped toward her, only to frown as she retreated.  Her fingers trembled and her eyes were filled to the brim with tears. He watched them cascade down her cheeks and it was only then that the truth struck him.  She was just as miserable as he.

 

“Lav—“

 

“Don’t call me that.  I hate that.” Her dressing gown gaped between her breasts and Harry was distracted by creamy mounds.  “I’ve written letters of apology. I sent them off last night when you were off doing Auror things. I owed it to Ron.  I owed it to Hermione. I’ve left one for you on the bureau. I know it’s over between us. I know it was silly to hope that one day you’d truly love me.  I thought there was a chance, especially since you never once commented on the scars Greyback left behind. I’m sorry the Minister denied your request. I’ve uhm, well I’ve packed my things and I sent for Luna.  I just, I just want you to be happy.”

 

Harry watched his wife rush from the kitchen.  He cringed as the sound of harsh sobs pierced through the air.  He couldn’t let her go, not like this. She had tried to be a good wife and he hadn’t done much in the ways of husbandry.  He’d ignored her, scoffed at her ambitions, and lamented marrying her, but he hadn’t ever tried to make it work.

 

He caught her wrist just before she closed her bedchamber door.  He’d thought of the room as hers for ages now and felt guilty about it.  He tugged her into his arms and held her still. She clung to him but it wasn’t stifling; it wasn’t overbearing.  It made him feel wanted and important.

 

She was soft in his arms, curves pressed against him, and he liked it.  She didn’t wrench his shirt free from his trousers and yank on his cock.  She didn’t sink to her knees and gobble his cock with a finger in his bum. She didn’t tie him to the bedpost or fasten a collar around his neck either.  She merely stood there and drew comfort from him.

 

“I forgot how soft you are,” Harry sighed into her hair.

 

Lavender snuggled into his chest, her arms loosely clasped around his waist.  The soothing beat of his heart eased the ache in her chest and the firm hands on her arse didn’t hurt either.  She kissed his neck, just beneath his jaw, the way he’d always liked and felt him shudder against her.

 

This wasn’t part of the plan.  She had packed her things. She had sent her mother an owl.  She had cried until she was certain there weren’t any bloody tears left.  She was prepared to leave her husband for the sake of his happiness.

 

Lavender bit back a moan when Harry kissed the side of her neck, his breath hot against her skin.  His hips rocked against her and she felt the proof of his arousal against her soft belly. He held her face in his hands, fingers firm, and kissed her.

 

He’d never kissed her like that before, slow and gentle, as though she mattered.  Her feet stumbled over themselves, her fingers fisted in his grey plaid shirt, as he nudged her toward the bed.  She stared at him while he concentrated on the tie of her dressing gown, shivering when he pushed it from her shoulders.

 

Lavender had never seen that look in his eye, not directed at her.  He looked downright hungry, especially when her unbound breasts swayed gently beneath her form-fitting nightie.  Harry looked at her, silently asking permission, his hands hovering in the air between them.

 

She nodded, expecting him to maul her breasts, but he didn’t.  He gripped the hem of her short pink nightie and dragged it over her body, achingly slow, and dropped it to the floor.  She squirmed beneath his undivided attention, finally sighing, and crossing her arms over her chest.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Lavender’s right hand absently brushed the remnants of Greyback’s attack.  She hated them. She hated him, beast that he was. She’d once felt beautiful and now she was marred with a daily reminder of her near-death experience.  The slashes, gouges that they were, stretched from her shoulder to her left breast.

 

“I’m studying you.  I’ve never really taken the time before now.  You deserve that. You deserve my attention and I’ve been a right shit about it.”  Harry’s thumb grazed one of the four scarred claw marks on her breast and bent to kiss them.

 

Lavender’s eyes fluttered shut and her nipples hardened, which spurred him on further.  His hand slipped between her thighs and she gasped from the gentleness of his prod. His teeth and lips paid homage to her breasts, sucking and pulling on them until her knees weakened.

 

Harry fisted the curls at her nape, forcing her head back as his lips covered hers.  His tongue mimicked the strokes of his fingers until she was gasping in his mouth. Her knees struck the side of the bed and she sat with him wedged between her thighs.

 

“Harry, wait Harry, please.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t think I want to do that,” he mumbled and sunk to his knees.

 

“Wait, you can’t!  That’s obscene!” Lavender squealed while Harry kissed his way up her pale thighs.

 

“Is it?”  He asked, his breath hot against her core, his fingers tugging on her painfully erect peaks.

 

Lavender moaned at the first swipe of his tongue and fell back onto rumpled sheets.  She’d never felt anything like it. Her body tingled as her hips undulated, despite Harry’s firm grip pinning her to the bed.

 

“Oh my gods,” she gasped.  “H-Harry, you’ve got to stop.  I don’t—“

 

Harry revelled in the sound of his wife's fractured moan.  In fact, he realised he liked everything about her reactions.  He'd never heard them, not like that and as her back arched off the bed, the truth settled heavy in his chest.  He'd never brought her pleasure, not once.

 

“Is it still obscene?”

 

Lavender blushed and covered her face with her hands in embarrassment.  She rolled onto her side and attempted to crawl away from him, only for his hands to dig into her hips and tug.  She whimpered, confused and titillated all at once.

 

Harry wasn’t the least bit adventurous in bed.  At least that had been true before his infidelity.  He’d always been sort of disinterested in her pleasure and thrust lazily with his eyes tightly screwed shut.  He’d barely paid her any mind, even when he crawled into her bed after his Luna’s rejections.

 

This was new.  This was exciting.  This was Harry’s firm hand slapping against her ample backside.  This was Harry’s hand twisted in her damp curls and yanking until her back was a perfect arch.  This was Harry sliding through her sodden sex and slamming home. It was everything she’d always wanted.

 

Later, sweaty limbs entwined, Lavender waited for Harry to tell her to go.  She had enjoyed their coupling immensely but in the afterglow, she believed it was his version of goodbye.  Instead, he kissed her, his knee between her thighs, his arms braced on either side of her chest. He rocked into her and sighed when her arms encircled his neck.

 

“You finished…in me,” Lavender breathed.  “You haven’t done that since—“

 

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted.  “Did you, did you not want me to do that?”

 

Lavender held him tight, smashing her breasts.  She buried her face in the side of his neck and bit his shoulder to keep the sob from filling the air between them.  She was completely overwhelmed and incapable of formulating proper thought.

 

“Yes, do tell, Harry.”

 

Harry yanked the rumpled pink, flowered sheet over his bum and assured Lavender's modesty was intact before he squinted toward the door.  His wife handed him his spectacles, daggers in her eyes. Harry blinked and blinked again, certain his eyes were playing tricks on him.

 

“Luna?  What the hell are you doing here?”

 

“I thought it was quite obvious,” Luna spat.  “I’ve come for you.”

 

Harry gulped guiltily and was strangely saddened to see Lavender gathering the sheet around her form.  His eyes followed her as she swung her legs to the floor and moved toward the bureau. He couldn’t see her face but he knew it must have been twisted in despair.

 

“It’s alright, Harry.”  Lavender shimmied into a pretty little frock he’d never seen before as she refused to allow the other witch see her cry.

 

“No, it’s not alright.  None of this is alright.”  Harry leapt from the bed, completely unmindful of his nudity, and slipped into his underpants angrily.  “Luna, I need you to go. We absolutely need to have an exceptionally important conversation but I’d rather that happened in front of some witnesses.  I’ll send you an owl. Lavender, stop shoving your belongings into your trunk. You’re not going anywhere and neither am I.”

 

Harry the Auror was decidedly different from Harry, Luna’s lover and Harry, Lavender’s husband.  He was strong. He was forceful. He was the man they had fallen in love with and he was intimidating.

 

“You’re staying?” Luna squeaked, her voice breaking.  “You’re staying with her?”

 

“She’s my wife,” Harry sighed, “how could I not?”

 

* * *

 

Diagon Alley smelled of burning embers and rot, literal rot.  It was unpleasant, to say the least, but Cormac McLaggen was more than halfway into his cups, therefore it was barely a nuisance.

 

The vigilant Aurors had demanded the shopkeeps evacuate and yet, they’d conveniently left the Leaky alone.  It was natural to congregate and lament their sorrows over pints of bitter ales and tumblers of Ogden’s. It was safer inside at any rate, as the air was heavy with plumbs of lingering black smoke.

 

“If you’re here, who’s watching the girls?”

 

Cormac’s bleary eyes barely registered the smarmy wizard beside him.  His vision swam as his stomach rolled and he was only absolutely certain there was one wizard rather than the two swaying before him.  He hiccupped and smiled seductively, offering a saucy wink.

 

“Well, they’ve got eyes, they could watch each other.” Cormac preened, particularly proud of himself.

 

“Did you hear Williamson is missing?”

 

Cormac shrugged, his addled brain unable to recall the other man’s name.  He didn’t give two shits about Williamson. The bloke was a disgraced Auror as it was and had barely managed to salvage his reputation by opening that derelict Apothecary that was now nothing but burnt embers.  Frankly, he didn’t understand all the fuss.

 

“Who cares?  Williamson stopped being relevant years ago.”  Cormac grunted when he was jostled from behind and snorted.  “I need to get out of here, too many fucking wankers.”

 

It was easy, as well as necessary, to lean on the helpful wizard.  It was easy to nod along to his continuously murmured words, despite the lack of comprehension.  It was easy to stumble on the pavements as well.

 

Cormac snickered as the slightly smaller man held him aloft.  He couldn’t feel his feet. He couldn’t much feel his face either.  He really, really wished he couldn’t feel his ears as the strong blond bastard never seemed to shut up. His incessant chattering echoed in Cormac’s head until black spots danced before his eyes.

 

“Hey, I know this place!”  Cormac smiled widely, pleased with himself.  “I own this building! Why are we here?”

 

“I don’t know where you live.”

 

“Not here, don’t live here.  D’ya know what’s here? Whining witches, that’s what’s here.  They complain loads and and they’ve always got clothes on when they do it.  Could listen to ‘em fine if they were starkers, but I’ve shagged some so there’s that.”

 

Cormac guffawed loudly and slapped his new best mate on the back.  He didn’t see the man’s grimace in his inebriated state and happily pushed through the door.  He smiled at the ridiculously large Squib seated near the fire and plopped onto the tatty sofa without preamble.

 

“Why’s he here?”  Mathias Byrnes sneered.

 

“Because he owns the building, because he’s piss drunk, because I couldn’t fucking leave him in the pub like that.”

 

“I would have,” Mathias mumbled as he coveted his firewhiskey.

 

He might not have a lick of magic but he had quite the affinity for Wizarding spirits.  He’d attempted to return to the droll Muggle drink, only to feel disappointment. He might have bullied his younger brother into providing endless quantities of firewhiskey, but it was the least the bloke could do.

 

“Where are the witches?!”  Cormac shouted, greedily eying Byrne’s bottle.

 

“Astoria Greengrass has been secretly wed to Neville Longbottom, therefore she’s not here.”

 

“When the fuck did that happen?”  Cormac’s eyes widened and he leant forward.

 

“The day after Malfoy and Granger eloped.  His mother was less than pleased and apparently, we were all supposed to pretend it never happened and dutifully attend their nuptials.”

 

Cormac frowned, his thoughts fuzzy.  He hadn’t received a bloody invitation to Hermione Granger’s wedding.  He thought they were friends and she had snubbed him, which didn’t sit well.  He definitely required another drink to wash away the painful humiliation.

 

“Is Parkinson here?  She’s always up for a good shag.”

 

“Parkinson told my brother here to fuck right off.  She packed her things and if memory serves, she’s quite busy shagging Weasley.”

 

He wrenched the firewhiskey from Byrnes’ hand and thrust it toward McLaggen.  The faster the arrogant arse descended into drooling slumber, the better. He didn’t want to make small talk, not with him.  He wanted to discuss his plans for Williamson and their next strategic move.

 

“Weasley?”  Cormac shuddered and gagged.  “Makes sense. She always charmed my hair red; can’t say I enjoyed it, but she’s a tigress in bed.”

 

“I always preferred the older Greengrass myself.  She was demure and sexy. Her tits were fantastic and she never cried.  I hate it when they cry.” He tossed back a glass of firewhiskey and hissed as it burned down his throat.

 

“I like it when they cry,” Mathias interjected.  He rubbed the thick blond hair on his arms, closed his eyes, and recalled the begging laced with bogies that made his heart sing.

 

“Wolpert shagged the Weasley witch.”  He bit his tongue and glared at his brother who only ignored him with a lick of his lips.

 

“Yeah, who hasn’t?”  Cormac snorted. “I heard she shagged at Hogwarts for Merlin’s sake, in the prefect’s bath no less.  I always suspected she was a bit of a slag.”

 

“She always screamed when Rye fucked her.  It was an alright show I suppose but I prefer the tears,” Mathias grinned sadistically.  "She was so pretty when she cried. She was pretty when she came but even prettier with her eyes overflowing with tears, begging me to stop."

 

“I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about but it’s disturbing.  Who the hell is Rye? Where is Ginny? Is she here?” Cormac lurched to his feet, the bile thick in his throat.

 

Mathias chortled happily, spewing amber liquid down his chin, and staining his undershirt.  This was the most fun he’d had in ages. His brother disliked it when he discussed his conquests, but it was his favourite pastime.  Well, he enjoyed shagging them, definitely wasn’t against murdering them, but talking about them was heaven in the midst of hell.

 

“Yeah, she was a good shag while she lasted.  Isn’t that right, Rye?”

 

“Stupefy!”

 

Cormac McLaggen crashed into the furthest wall, bookshelves splintered, and his head bounced off his chest before he was finally still.  The building seemed to shudder from the force of the spell until finally, the air was only filled with ragged breaths.

 

Mathias blinked heavily, suddenly afraid.  He didn’t really like magic. He had always been the sort of man that was afraid of that which he did not understand.

 

He hated that his parents had given him to Muggles as though he were rubbish set for the bin, but he never could have lived in their world.  He would have been powerless. He would have been nothing and he detested that idea.

 

He’d had an alright life in the Muggle Orphanage and it still felt strange to refer to them as Muggles.  He was like them, wasn’t he? Except, he wasn’t, at least that’s what his brother told him. Mathias knew if he had children they could potentially be magical and that would never do.

 

“Now look what you’ve done!”

 

“I didn’t mean—“

 

“No, you never do!  You didn’t think! What the fuck am I supposed to do now?  You’ve fucked up, Matty.”

 

Mathias vacated the armchair and cautiously approached the unconscious wizard.  He glanced between Cormac and his brother, his eyes narrowed shrewdly. He wasn’t stupid and if it weren’t for his brother’s stupid fucking stick, he probably would have snapped Rye’s neck by now.

 

“Don’t call me Matty, you know I hate it.”

 

“Aye, I do, but I’ve expressed the same sentiments about being called Rye, now haven’t I?”

 

“Touché. We’ll have to kill him, of course.  They’re still looking for the bloke, yeah?” Mathias scratched the stubble on his chin, formulating a careful plan.

 

“Of course they are, you bumbling oaf!  Wait, oh, that’s brilliant. It could buy us a bit of time.  We’d have to keep Williamson under wraps for a bit. We’ll refocus our energies in Muggle London.  The orphanage still needs to burn, but the tube…”

 

Mathias hefted Cormac in his burly arms and dumped him on the sofa.  He’d heard loads about the irritating bastard. He wouldn’t be missed, not really.  According to his brother, McLaggen was known for his boasting and passive-aggressive behaviours as far as that scarred boy was concerned.

 

“He mentioned that wedding.  He was ridiculously put out by the lack of invitation, even in his inebriated state.  Maybe he fancied the Granger girl. Maybe he decided to wreak havoc because he couldn’t have what he coveted the most.  Maybe he confesses all his sins and sends a nice letter just before the wedding. They won’t expect anything after that, will they?”

 

“Gods, you’re terrifying.  I fucking love it.”

 

“Of course you do, you’re just as twisted as I am.”

 

Mathias laughed darkly and returned to his firewhiskey.  He missed the ginger girl, just a little bit. He really could have used a good shag.  Violence and mayhem was his bloody aphrodisiac, but she was dead.

 

“Don’t start moping now!  Come on then, we’ll dispose of him and I’ll find you a pretty little thing to satiate your appetites.”

 

“Can it be a Muggle this time?  I’ve got my eye on one, think she’s got a sister.”  Mathias sounded hopeful, incredibly hopeful, and his brother’s harsh glare softened.

 

“Yeah, sure, whatever you like.”  

 

“Wh-what happened?”  Cormac mumbled, stirring slightly.

 

“Avada Kedavra!”

 

The brothers shared a glance laced with broad smiles and sadism.  Everything was coming together beautifully. It was more than they ever hoped and soon, it would be over.  Perhaps then they would find peace.

 


	21. 21

 

_ And that’s the thing about people who mean everything they say.  They think everyone else does too. – Luna Lovegood _

 

* * *

 

The lethargic wizard groaned as his forehead thumped against the metal table.  The air was thick and near sweltering, which he was positive was done purposefully.  The condensation slid down his water glass, not that he had touched it. He didn’t trust them and that was probably for the best.

 

“He’s been in there for hours.  I can’t believe he hasn’t touched the bloody water.”

 

“You do realise he’s Lucius Malfoy and was probably planning subterfuge while we were all in nappies, yes?”

 

Theo and Zacharias exchanged venomous glares, frustrated with the ridiculously lacking interrogation methods.  Robards had demanded the Veritaserum laced water be presented to the former Death Eater without preamble. They had warned him against it, but Robards wasn’t required to heed their unsolicited advice.

 

“He’s got to be thirsty though.  Hell, I’m thirsty just watching him sweat.”  Zabini pressed his nose against the glass and yelped when Lucius snarled at him.

 

“He can’t see you.”

 

Theo ground his palms into his eyes rather than shoving his wand up Zabini’s nostril.  Violence was frowned upon amongst Ministry employees, even if they were vexing. He liked Blaise well enough but his like or dislike had absolutely no bearing on his waning patience.

 

“If you don’t let me out, I’m going to whip out my cock and urinate,” Lucius moaned from beneath his curtain of sweaty platinum locks.

 

“If I have to see that I quit,” Zacharias muttered, accentuating his revulsion with a faux gag.

 

Robards snorted as he burst through the door, thoroughly frustrated.  He detested when he was micromanaged by the Minister. He knew as well as anyone else that Lucius Malfoy did not set Fiendfyre on the bloody Apothecary.  He understood the suspicion, Merlin knew he’d had it plenty himself, but after the Borgin and Burkes fiasco, it was inconceivable. Despite his distaste for Malfoy, Robards knew the man wasn’t a blithering idiot.

 

“Nott, Smith, see to your reports.  Send Weasley up.”

 

Theo rolled his eyes and turned to leave.  He hadn’t any fucking reports to attend. He had meetings with the Muggle Minister, interviews to conduct with more bloody Muggles, and he really just wanted a nap.

 

It was exhausting and he hated nearly every moment of it.  He hadn’t signed onto the Ministry to be their fucking Muggle Relations Officer or whatever shit they were calling it lately.  He was an Investigator but gods forbid they allowed him to actually investigate anything! Can’t have that! Logic and all that rot.

 

“You’re being ridiculous!”

 

“Me?  You’re the one that refuses to meet with the estate agent.  You’re the one that refuses to try on those stupid fucking dresses that have completely engulfed my flat.  You’re the one that invited Daphne and Marguerite to fucking stay and now I’ve got to dress before breakfast for fuck’s sake, but I’m ridiculous.”

 

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose and willed the Malfoys to cease their angry tirade.  He heard a door slam and felt its reverberations as Malfoy stalked toward his former desk.  Theo watched Draco slam drawers and nearly decided against approaching him.

 

“Malfoy, the entire department could hear the shouting.”  Weasley clucked and waggled his finger in mock disappointment while finishing the last bits of his breakfast sammie.

 

“Never get married,” Draco growled.

 

“This isn’t the best time to tell you your father is in Interrogation, is it?  Weasley, Robards has requested you. I’m hoping the Ministry has decided against further action.”  Theo approached the duo cautiously, his eyes flicking between them.

 

“Malfoy—“ Hermione scurried into the Hit Wizard offices, her robes dangling from her forearm.  “Your mother sent an owl and she’s positively distraught.”

 

“My father’s being held for questioning,” Draco mumbled without looking at her.

 

“What’s going on with you lot?”  

 

Ron shrugged into his Auror trench and wiped his hands on his brown trousers.  The tension between Hermione and Draco was disconcerting, to say the least. Pushing them together was supposed to make everything better, not exactly the fucking same.

 

“He wants me to give up everything.”  Hermione crossed her arms, her brows high in her hairline, silently daring him to refute her words.

  
  


“You’re exaggerating,” Draco snarled.  “I want her to go through the wedding gowns my mother sent.  I want her to  _ consider _ selling her flat.  I want her to  _ consider _ leaving the Ministry and working with me.  I never demanded anything. I’m selling my fucking flat as well so you can stop looking at me like that, Weasley.  I want to create a home. I didn’t insist she move into the Manor or even the Cottage, despite the fact it’s tradition.  I didn’t insist she quit her job and dedicate her life to charities. I didn’t make any fucking demands, I asked her to consider, but that’s wanting her to give up everything apparently.”  He tossed his hands in the air rather than indulging in the thought of wrapping them around her throat.

 

“Hermione doesn’t like change.  She doesn’t like admitting when she’s wrong.  She doesn’t like being wrong. She doesn’t like, well loads of things, really.  Usually, I try to talk some sense into her, but she rarely listens, besides, it’s not my job anymore.  Good luck, Malfoy. I’m off to deal with your father.”

 

Hermione watched Ron lope through the offices with fire in her eyes.  He was right, she knew he was, but it didn’t ease her fury. She still maintained her husband was being utterly unreasonable.  It was a whirlwind of emotion and the changes were entirely too much, too soon, too everything all at once.

 

“Kingsley really should have given you a bit of holiday with all the wedding nonsense.”

 

Theo glanced at Hermione quickly, hoping to soothe her ire.  He'd always found her level-headed unless Malfoy was concerned.  His mate always had a tendency to burrow under her skin and irritate her until their shouting interrupted the work day.  It was magical, really.

 

“Kingsley ordered everyone to report to duty,” Draco sighed.  “The Fiendfyre in Diagon Alley was fucking devastating.”

 

"I'm sorry about the Apothecary, mate.  I heard you just signed to purchase it from Williamson.  He's gone missing, which doesn't bode well for him. We managed to contain it before it burnt to the ground and the preliminary investigation is leaning toward the idea it was set to hide the body."

 

Draco rubbed his face with an ink-stained hand and squeezed his eyes closed.  He didn't want to discuss the Apothecary. He didn't want to dwell on his dreams up in smoke.  He wanted to direct his attention to capturing the bastard and perhaps even accidentally kick the bloke's face in.

 

“Wait,” Hermione breathed.  “The Apothecary?” She spun toward Draco, her hand soft on his back.  “Your Apothecary? Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“Does it matter?  You made it abundantly clear you weren’t interested in vacating your illustrious Ministry position.”

Theo’s dark eyes flickered between the bantering Malfoys.  It really was terribly interesting watching the range of emotion dance across their faces.  It gave him insight into their innermost thoughts and feelings, not that they noticed. They were entirely too consumed with each other and for a moment, he wondered how that would feel.

 

“Oh, Draco, no.  I didn’t mean never.  I just, I couldn’t in good conscience leave the Ministry with this madman on the loose.  There’s no telling where he’ll strike next or even his motives behind the attacks. I’ve been working on a file, compiling information, and I really think I’m on to something.”

 

Draco turned slowly and perched on the edge of his former desk.  He searched Hermione’s eyes for falsehood and saw nothing but concern.  She grasped his hand and squeezed gently, mindful of the silence around them.

 

“I thought it was because,” Draco paused to clear his throat and glare at Theo.  “I thought perhaps it was because of uhm what I said the other day. We never, well we never discussed it or anything and—“

 

“No!”  Hermione blushed and shook her head.  “Theo, could you give us a minute? I think Smith is near the door.”

 

“I told you—“  Draco sputtered the moment Theo stomped toward the door.

 

“I know what you told me,” Hermione hissed.  “You said it and then you left. What am I supposed to do with that, Draco?”

 

“I was giving you time to process it.  Merlin knows you wouldn’t be able to function if you didn’t overthink everything.”

 

Draco crossed his arms, daring her to refute his words.  He scowled, as was his nature, and arched an eyebrow in the face of her silence.  Quite honestly, he’d expected more of her than to ignore his confession and she’d disappointed him.

 

“We haven’t had a moment to ourselves and—“

 

“And whose fault is that?”

 

“Fine, yes, it’s my fault.”  Hermione clenched her jaw and closed her eyes for a moment.  “I suppose I should have consulted you before I offered my flat to Mrs Greengrass and Daphne.  I was actually considering uhm, well they’re very fond of it and I’d like them to keep it.”

 

Draco, ever mindful of Nott and Smith’s invasiveness, snatched Hermione to his chest and tangled his fingers in her hair.  She stiffened, obviously uncomfortable, but it didn’t stop his endeavours, rather it encouraged them. He winked, a hint of a smile teasing the corner of his mouth, and slanted his lips across hers.

 

Her gasp was swallowed by his talented mouth and her knees weakened.  She hated that. Her body was traitorous as far as Draco Malfoy was concerned.  She was angry, wasn’t she? It really was difficult to concentrate with his hand pressed against the small of her back and his tongue in her mouth.

 

“The Malfoys are being inappropriate again!”  Blaise Zabini intentionally bumped Draco’s shoulder, his arms filled with reports.

 

“Nothing new there, Zabini.  What on earth is that?” Theo stared at the numerous files utterly aghast.

 

“These are files on every fucking person glancing at Diagon Alley when the Apothecary went up in Fiendfyre.  The Minister says the Investigators need to do their jobs. Some nonsense about due diligence but frankly I think he’s a bit lost.  The Aurors, The Hit Wizards, The Investigators, and the Ministry haven’t any fucking leads at all.” Blaise laughed and unceremoniously dropped the files onto a nearby desk.

 

“They’re still snogging.”  Zacharias curled his lip, disgusted by their wanton behaviours.

 

“At least they’re not shagging, consider yourself fortunate,” Theo snapped.  

 

He considered a well placed Stinging Hex.  He really, really considered it. They were driving him absolutely mad.  He couldn’t keep up with incessant bickering turned snogging. There was work to be done dammit!

 

“You can’t just kiss me—“ Hermione sighed against Draco’s insistent lips.

 

“Yes, I can.  Did. If you keep it up, I’ll do more than snog you.”  His grey eyes darkened, filled with lascivious intent and gods, she was tempted.

 

“You’re incorrigible.”

 

Hermione shoved Draco’s ridiculously hard chest and spun on her heel.  She quickly righted her wrinkled blouse and turned her attention to the stack of files.  She knew the Ministry was desperate; it was obvious from the haphazard list they had been provided.

 

“This is bullshit,” Theo growled.

 

“Obviously.  Have you looked through this?  They have bloody first years here.  As if a first year could conjure Fiendfyre when they’re barely capable of Casting a passable Lumos.”

 

Hermione bristled when Zacharias stepped near and for once she was thankful for Draco’s possessive nature.  She appreciated the way he sidled between them, his hand daringly low on her back. The low timbered growl didn’t help in the least and she made note to chastise him for it later.

 

“Without the students, small children, and known Ministry employees, there’s barely a dozen files here.”  Draco peered over Hermione’s shoulder barely resisting the urge to nip it.

 

“I don’t think we should dismiss Ministry employees quite so easily, Malfoy.”

 

“Perhaps not, but the two listed are the Minister for Magic himself and his Undersecretary.  I highly doubt the Minister set the Apothecary on fire; however, eyewitness accounts which are logged just below, state the Minister exited the Leaky after the screams."

 

Hermione glared at her husband, her jaw clenched nearly as tightly as her fists.  It didn’t alter the sparkle of amusement in his narrowed grey eyes and she ached to slap the smirk from lips.  She settled for slapping the file closed, which wasn’t nearly as satisfying.

 

“If you lot are done with the eye fucking; Williamson has been spotted in Muggle London.”  Ron snorted as he stalked into the room and silently dared Malfoy to refute his observations.

 

“Smith, sift through those files for viable suspects.  Granger and Malfoy, go see about Williamson. Weasley, where’s your counterpart and why are you back here?”  Nott’s tone oozed pragmatism as he focused on the mission at hand.

 

“Oh yeah uhm Malfoy, the Minister released your father.  He said you and your wife best report home directly after shift or he’ll set your mother on you.”  Ron shrugged yet his lips twitched with amusement.

 

Hermione snorted, which quickly segued into muffled laughter as she covered her mouth and averted her eyes.  She yelped when a harsh hand slapped against her bum, her cheeks flushing. She attempted to glare, truly she did, but the muffled laughter stemming from Ron and Theo didn't aid in her endeavours.

 

“Think that’s funny, do you?”

 

“Yes!  If you’re not careful, your mum will send you straight to bed without any biscuits.”

 

“If we don’t interrupt, they’re going to snog again and I like my breakfast firmly lodged in my stomach, not splashed across my shoes.”  Ron grimaced. “Harry should be along shortly. It seems he and Lavender are patching things up. I didn’t ask for details. I didn’t want them.”

 

“I suppose we’ll have to reschedule our dinner with them, especially if we’re to meet with your parents.  I was actually looking forward to sitting in a restaurant and chatting over a glass of wine. Her letter was lovely.”  Hermione sighed and quickly rubbed her forehead. “Alright well, that’s that. We’re off to Muggle London.”

 

Draco snorted and grasped her elbow.  He wasn’t the least bit sorry they wouldn’t be able to dine with Potter and his irritating wife.  He didn’t necessarily want to see his parents either but in this case, it was the lesser of two evils.

 

“Do you suppose we can skive off for a quick shag?”  Draco whispered against the shell of Hermione’s ear, his tongue teasing her until her elbow struck his ribs.  “I’ll take that as a no for now, but I wager I can change your mind.”

 

* * *

 

The strange man’s greyed ponytail blew in the slight breeze as he amassed numerous glances from passersby.  His red robes were obviously out of place but he didn’t know where he was. It was difficult to think, to formulate a coherent thought.  He was a man on a mission yet he couldn’t recall its importance. He only knew it had to be done.

 

The straps around his chest were exceedingly tight but he knew better than to attempt to adjust them.  He’d been warned, at least he thought he had. He considered it and his right hand shakily moved toward his chest only for a sense of foreboding to consume him.  No, it was best he let them be.

 

The building.  The building in the distance was important.  He didn’t understand the green letters staring back at him as he rounded the corner.  He didn’t understand much of anything. The people scowling at him were very strange. This wasn’t what he remembered, what he knew.

 

He owned a shop.  It was a lovely little shop.  He was going to be a very rich wizard after he swindled the Malfoy brat.  He remembered that much and it made him smile.

 

His feet moved slowly, one foot in front of the other and he was nearly there.  He observed the Muggles as they bustled through the revolving door. His feet wanted him to follow them and he would have, but then the screams filled his ears.

 

An angry Muggle shoved him in his haste and Williamson’s robe fluttered open, revealing his malicious intentions.  His mouth opened and closed yet the lack of tongue kept him from uttering anything beyond tortured grunts. 

 

Where was his tongue?  He used to have a tongue, didn’t he?  Surely, he must have. Who took it? Why did they want it?  It hurt his head to think beyond that. He had a job to do; he was sure of it, as much as he could be sure of anything.  The filmy haze forcing his limbs to cooperate clouded his thoughts but he knew he had to do this. It was important. He was important again and it felt nice.

 

“Williamson!”

 

He twitched as he heard his name shouted, felt the jostle of panicking Muggles.  His fingers curled, almost as though he held a wand that wasn’t there. He hadn’t the time or the ability to ruminate on his lack of wand.  He recognised that voice and it sent a shiver down his spine.

 

“Malfoy wait.  The area hasn’t been cleared.”

 

He didn’t know the girl personally but he knew who she was, everyone did.  She was vaguely pretty he supposed. The Malfoy boy was exceedingly protective of her and it was obviously a source of contention between them.  He probably would have enjoyed needling them if he could.

 

He grunted, the remnants of his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.  It was time and he struggled against the compulsion. He wasn’t ready to die.  He was finally on the path to redemption. He would finally be rich and the Wizarding World would finally cease treating him as a bloody pariah.

 

He was an Auror once, respected even.  It wasn’t his fault innocents had died.  He was on mission. He was doing his duty dammit!  He knew they had been Death Eaters. He knew it deep within his soul but they refused to listen.

 

There wasn’t a lick of proof they said but he didn’t need any fucking proof.  They ran. They ran and they were guilty as hell. It was no surprise they wound up in a den of absconding Death Eaters.  Of course, he hadn’t meant to kill them but what was done, was done and he didn’t regret it. 

 

He was disgraced and left with his meagre savings to rebuild his life beneath a shroud of contempt.  He clenched his jaw and shook his head until his jowls ached. His feet dragged him forward, propelling him through the revolving door.  There was no use fighting it.

 

His lips stretched into a strained smile as he watched the Malfoy bastard give chase as his breasted mate tugged on his forearm.  The tears pricked his eyes and his gnarled fingers tore open his red robes, revealing his waistcoat strapped with the strange little bricks.  He understood their purpose as it was well explained while multi-coloured threads were shoved into them.

 

“Williamson!  Stop! Don’t!”

 

“Malfoy!  You can’t!”

 

“Dammit Granger, let go!”

 

Williamson waved cheekily just before he spread his arms wide.  He closed his eyes as he listened to the mysterious ticking noise just beneath his heart.  It was time.

 

The sound was deafening and the ground shook.  Williamson was ripped to shreds during the blast while the Hit Wizards and straggling Aurors that the Ministry dispatched were covered in shattered glass speckled with blood.  Draco Malfoy simultaneously cast the Shield Charm while he tackled his wife to the ground.

 

He felt the heat at his back and grunted as broken bits of brick rained down from the sky.  Hermione squirmed beneath him, the wind knocked from her, but he wasn’t ready to relinquish his hold, not yet.  He waited until the last bits of falling debris scattered around them before he yanked Hermione to her feet.

 

“Malfoy,” Hermione whispered, her voice strangled, eyes wide.  “There’s an ear on your shoulder.”

 

Draco hastily flicked the molten ear from his shoulder and focused on her.  His hands stroked over her shoulders, over her cheeks, down her ribs. His eyes roved every inch of exposed skin, hissing at the obvious scrapes and bruises.  His breaths were rapid, his heart pounded in his ears, and he dragged her through the mass of screaming Muggles, incapable of rational thought.

 

“What are you doing?  We need to help them! They’re injured and terrified!  We need to send a Patronus and—“

 

Draco shoved her against the intact building across the Muggle street and popped the button of her black trousers.  He didn’t have the words. He couldn’t formulate his thoughts. He only knew he needed her, right then, and nothing would stop him.

 

Her huffs of protest fell on deaf ears, even when he shredded her knickers.  It was pointless to protest, especially with his eyes as dark as they were. It was instinctual, she knew that much, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until he appeased the desperate need to sink into her depths.

 

“I liked those knickers.”  Hermione blustered, yet remained still.  “There are Muggles watching your pale arse, oh my gods…”

 

He knew she’d be furious with him later, but it was definitely worth it.  Her body welcomed him as though it were made for him and he hissed as he slid home.  He buried his face in the crook of her neck, her curls plastered to his forehead, her thighs clenched around his hips.  

 

“You like being on display, don’t you?  Their eyes on you, lips whispering as your head falls back and you flutter around my cock.”

 

“I don’t see you complaining.”  Hermione blushed and screwed her eyes closed as he wrenched open her blouse and hungrily attacked her hardened nipples.

 

“Of course not, kitten.  I could stop if you like.  I could leave you right there, riding that precipice and refuse your release.  Would you like that? I could touch you and make you scream for the Muggles instead.  Would you rather that?” He slipped his hand between them, pressing into her, revelling in her squirms.

“Y-you can’t leave me like this.  You can’t.”

“It might be worth it, love.  Later, to make up for it, I could bend your delectable arse over my lap and spank you with that paddle hidden in your bureau.  Better yet, I could spread you on the table and fuck you with my tongue.” Draco smirked, pleased with himself. 

 

Hermione’s fingers dug into his shoulders, her teeth latched onto his ear, and her moans filled the heavy air between them.  She quivered against him, her sweat slick on his chest while she stiffened in silent scream. His tongue flicked over his teeth and he knew he had to sink them into her.  Her strangled gasp rocked through her with a shudder as his teeth pierced her skin and he spilt into her, finally sated.

 

“I told you I could change your mind.”  Draco hummed in her ear happily.

 

“The Ministry is going to have our arse.  Do you have any idea how many Muggles will need their memories modified?”  Hermione shoved against his chest, not that he budged.

 

“For what?  Like they’ve never seen people shag before?  Or crazy people blowing themselves up? Or body parts splashing in the street?  Come off it.”

 

Draco groaned when his cock slipped from her and hastily buckled his trousers.  He seriously considered leaving the Investigators and Aurors to clean up the mess.  He didn't much care for wayward body parts. However, one look at his rumpled, sexy, and fucking furious wife had him rethinking the matter.

 

“You’re ridiculous.  We should be aiding the injured.”

 

“We did!  We gave them a delightful show!  Take a look at them, Granger! They’re smiling despite the fact they’ve got bits of Williamson all over them.”  

 

Draco twisted his hand in her disastrous curls and tugged her against his chest.  She opened her mouth, probably to reprimand him again, but he quickly covered her lips with his own.  The silence wouldn’t last, it never did, but damned if he didn’t enjoy it.


	22. 22

_Either come closer or stay away. Having you in between is exhausting. – Lavender Brown Potter_

 

* * *

 

Ron squirmed uncomfortably at the cosy table. He didn't want to have dinner with Harry and Lavender. It was awkward. It was uncomfortable. It was downright awful.

He watched the way Lavender doted on Harry and he felt revolted and relieved all at once. It was disconcerting and confusing at the same time. He'd never been more thankful he'd escaped Lavender's clutches when they were younger.

"Psst, Harry," Ron whispered loudly, his blue eyes carefully set on Lavender's back while she retrieved the main.

"Ron."

The singular word held warning, exhaustion, and annoyance. It was fairly impressive, not that it stopped Ron. He almost wished Hermione and Malfoy could witness the renewed relationship. It would have made dinner that much more satisfying.

"Does she uhm, does she call you anything?"

"What are you talking about?" Harry shoved away his empty salad plate with narrowed eyes and stiff shoulders.

"Well," Ron grinned, "Lavender was always really vocal with her Won-Won bit, so I'm curious. Does she shout Har-Har or even," he snickered, "Pot-Pot? Potty? Come on, Harry. Give me something here!"

Ron leant back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach, pleased with the furious blush on Harry's cheeks. He knew it. She said something and he was determined to discover it. It was the most fun he'd had in ages and for once, the teasing wasn't directed at him.

"Th-that's private." Harry cleared his throat nervously, green eyes flicked toward the swinging kitchen door.

"I'll ask her," Ron shrugged. "She might tell me, complete with details about your bedroom prowess."

"Prowess? Really Ron? You really need to stop using those calendar words."

"Oi, don't mock my Word-A-Day Calendar." Ron frowned as Lavender sauntered back into the dining room with some hideous concoction on a platter. "That looks wonderful Lav, what is it?"

Lavender smiled brightly, her cheeks pink, her eyes bright, and Harry wondered if that was always her reaction to compliments. The guilt cascaded over him and he vowed to discover every little nuance that made up his wife. He wouldn't fail her, not again.

"Are mashed potatoes supposed to be crunchy?" Harry asked stupidly.

Harry flinched from the force of Ron's kick, quickly realising his error. He grimaced and shoved a mouthful of beef between his lips. He braced himself for some sort of rancid sting to his tongue but was pleasantly surprised when it melted and slid down his throat.

"I don't know what this is, but it's delicious!" Ron heartily dug into his plate with a series of moans and Lavender preened. "D'ya think Malfoy and Hermione are faring alright with his parents, Harry? They were a right disaster after Williamson exploded and all."

Harry shook his head, "I don't envy them."

Lavender sat beside Harry and immediately set her hand on his thigh. Their relationship had been moving forward swimmingly and Harry didn't even flinch from her unexpected touch. He did, however, squirm uncomfortably as her hand traversed his thigh and gently cupped his bollocks through his trousers.

Harry hissed through his teeth spitting bits of potato in Ron's direction. His wife's talented hand was stroking him and it was exciting as much as it was terrifying. The last thing he wanted was to be on the receiving end of Ron's knowing glance.

"Yeah, I know what that means. Thanks for the vittles, Lav, but I think it's best if I fuck off. Maybe I'll give Pansy a visit; I could do with a shag. Or uhm maybe I'll wait for one of Hermione's angry owls, not sure yet. Anything's better than here, no offence or anything, but I really don't want to see the two of you rolling around in dinner."

Ron offered a quick wave and hurried toward the Floo as quickly as his feet would carry him. He nearly covered his ears when Lavender moaned ' _oh Harry_ ' and grappled with the Floo Powder just as Harry grunted ' _take it all bitch_ '. They had issues, serious issues, especially if lumpy mash was foreplay.

 

* * *

 

 

"You're a disgrace."

Draco rolled his eyes and raked his fingers through his filthy blond hair. Of course, he was a disgrace. He had body parts and blood spatter decorating his clothing. He knew she'd be furious, his mother that is, but he hadn't a choice in the matter.

"Father said—"

"I know what he said, Draco! I didn't expect to see you covered in filth. You're staining my floors for Salazar's sake." Narcissa took a calming breath as her eyes passed over Hermione and her jaw tightened. "Ms Granger isn't faring much better. Gods, I can't even look at you. Go up to your rooms and make yourselves presentable. Dinner will be served promptly at seven."

Draco and Hermione shared an amused glance yet quickly turned away. The last thing they wanted was to succumb to inappropriate laughter. They couldn't imagine the sort of chastising they would receive for that.

"I suppose it's time to for us to rid ourselves of Williamson."

"I can't believe Theo sent us here directly from the scene. He knew we wouldn't have time for a quick Scourgify before being faced with your mother. He did this on purpose." Hermione dutifully followed Draco down the corridor.

"Of course he did. He's Nott. I'm sure he's having a good laugh with Zabini at our expense. We've barely got time to shower before dinner, let alone a shag," Draco grumbled.

"You're insatiable. We just had a shag, in front of Muggles, no less. I'm surprised your cock hasn't fallen off."

Hermione wrenched off her blouse and scoffed at the way Draco's eyes lingered on her bared torso. She managed to keep her lips firmly clamped together when an elf popped into Draco's bedchamber and retrieved her discarded clothing. Thus far, she was faring well.

"I can't help the instinct. I've explained this to you, Granger." Draco shucked his trousers and marched directly to the shower taps completely starkers.

"You've said a lot of things and never revisited them again. It's difficult to keep track." Hermione stepped into the steamy spray and closed her eyes as the water cascaded over her.

Draco pressed his palms against the edge of the sink basin, nearly wishing it was sharp enough to slice into his skin. He wasn't feeling particularly self-destructive but he craved the sting. He didn't want to discuss his bloody feelings but his options were limited. Her biting rhetoric was going to be the end of him.

"What is it you want me to say?"

Draco stepped into the shower scowling and managed to avoid the burning desire to shove her against the wall and have his way with her, again. She was fairly pliant as far as the shagging was concerned, which he appreciated. However, she wasn't the least bit amenable to anything else as far as their relationship was concerned.

"Malfoy, you've got to admit this," she gestured between them with soap dripping down her back, "is peculiar at best. I can't help but to believe this entire situation is due to the Fear Inducement Hex. Without it, this never would have happened." She turned her back and stood beneath the spray, sighing as the hot water worked the kinks from her shoulders.

Draco's fingers dug into her shoulders as he spun her around. He pushed her backwards until her back slammed into the tiled wall. His grey eyes blazed with silent anger and she sputtered as hot water filled her mouth.

"Your obstinance knows no bounds, does it?" Draco snarled, wet blonde hair in his eyes, teeth bared. "You are just bound and determined to be difficult. Why is this so difficult for you to comprehend? Dammit, Granger, we're good together."

His eyes followed the path of the suds as they slipped down her collarbone and settled on her enticing pink nipple. His tongue instinctively ran along his teeth and he felt them sharpen. It wasn't the time. He knew it wasn't the time but damned if he could stop himself.

Draco watched the way her lips parted and her eyes widened, filled with knowing intent. She remained silent, excluding a muted gasp as he lowered his head to her throat. He nipped the slick skin, held her close, and revelled in the way her body melted against his as his teeth sunk into her.

"Granger," he sighed. "I fucking love you. Now, how do  _you_  feel about  _me_?"

He used their close proximity to his advantage and pressed against her. He liked the way her eyes sort of glazed over and her cheeks flushed. It was better when she hadn't the opportunity to formulate every perfect thought.

"It's complicated," Hermione stammered. "I can't think when you're doing that."

Draco licked the shell of her ear and pressed into her. His knee gently parted her slippery thighs and hissed against her jaw. He wasn't playing fair and he knew it, but so did she.

"I don't want you to think. I haven't been able to think since the day we were partnered. It's only fair you can't think when we're naked and pressed together." His hands slipped to her waist and tugged.

"I, well you know I care about you, obviously. You're my partner and there's this whatever this is between us but without that—" Hermione lost her train of thought when Draco's fingers danced along her inner thigh. "I haven't spent much time analyzing my feelings and then you completely blindsided me."

Draco slapped his free hand against the tile beside her head and growled. It wasn't a vicious sign but it was an obvious indication of his contention. His narrowed eyes zeroed in on her trembling bottom lip and while it eased some of his anger, he still wanted a definitive fucking answer.

"I can feel it, did you know that, kitten?" Draco pecked her lips lightly and willed the water to remain hot. "I can feel it coursing through you when we're shagging."

"Dammit," Hermione muttered. "Dammit, it was inevitable. I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to, even if I knew how. I don't understand why the words are so important. You know how I feel without me having to specify and it's sort of nice in a way. I'm not good with these sorts of things. Your mother is going to send an elf if we don't dress."

Draco studied her, really looked at her and brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. He was supposed to be the emotionally stunted one in their relationship. He was the one that was deprived of affection as a child and struggled with accepting kindness. He was the one with the scrolls worth of issues and yet it was his wife that was incredibly insecure.

"Knowing the feelings exist and hearing the declaration isn't the same, love."

"Tell me then," Hermione paused with a slow blink, "how could I not? I don't know how…not to love you. It snuck up on me and I don't know when it happened or how it happened and it's terrifying."

Draco twisted the taps and pushed off the tile. He was still perturbed. She had given an answer in a roundabout sort of way and that's not what he wanted. He wanted the ridiculous declaration. He wanted to feel the warmth in his chest. It wasn't enough dammit.

"I have an inherent fear that everything good will be taken from me," Hermione continued. "I know it's illogical and I continuously attempt to rationalize it.

'I thought going to Hogwarts would be amazing and it was but it was also horrible. Then there was the War and I lived every day utterly terrified that I would end up like Ted Tonks only to wind up on in your home with your psychotic aunt.

'Then, of course, there was Ron. It's fine between us now and I'm glad you're friends, but I didn't see that ending. I thought that was it. I thought, finally, everything was going to be alright and I'd have that one thing that everyone talks about; that one defining moment, that one thing that doesn't end. Instead, everything ends and it's a mess and well—" She shrugged sort of helplessly.

Draco wrapped Hermione in a fluffy emerald towel and held her close. Her hair was plastered to her forehead and dripped down her back, splattering against his hands, but he didn't care. Her vulnerability was endearing and it tugged at his heartstrings.

"This is it, Granger. This is the one thing. This isn't ending." He cracked a small smile and watched her lips twitch.

"You can't say that. You don't know that. Things happen, terrible things. We just washed off bits of Williamson. We're constantly in danger, anything could happen. You can't make promises like that!" Hermione's knees knocked together beneath the cover of her fluffy towel and she sniffed, determined to refrain from crying.

Draco wiped away the droplets of water from beneath her eyes and remained silent. He knew she would need a few moments to collect herself. He dried her slowly, avoiding her hair, and led her toward the wardrobe nestled in the corner of the room.

"You're afraid of losing me." Draco knew he sounded a bit smug but it was only fitting as he felt a bit smug.

"Of course I am!" Hermione yanked a blue chiffon gown from the wardrobe and tossed her hands in the air. "I love you," she shouted and immediately clamped her hands over her mouth. "You did that on purpose!"

Draco clucked his tongue mockingly, "my poor wife was manipulated into admitting she loved me; yeah I'm not even sorry."

"You're unbelievable."

"Thank you." Draco bowed dramatically and whisked her into his arms.

"That wasn't a compliment," Hermione hissed even as she wound her arms around his neck.

She leant into him, her lips pliant beneath his and while she knew they were late, at that moment it didn't matter. He was right, though she was remiss to admit it. Finally saying the words had altered something between them and while their kiss was chaste, the passion was immeasurable.

"I want to have a baby," Draco whispered against her jaw.

"I know. I just, I don't want to be a single mother because my husband got himself killed on some stupid mission. I don't want to be your mother—"

"I don't want you to be  _my_  mother. I want you to be the mother of my children." Draco's fingers wound in her hair and held her in place as he stared into her dark eyes.

"I won't do it until this case is finished. It's too dangerous to even consider while I'm a Hit Wizard," Hermione sighed as his teeth nipped her throat.

"Why do you think I bought the Apothecary?" Draco crooned, smirking smugly as she melted in his arms.

 

* * *

 

Theodore Nott groaned and buried his head in his crossed arms. He hated this case. It defied logic. It defied reason. It was senseless violence and mayhem, which seemed to serve no purpose other than to create havoc.

"Fucking bollocks."

He smashed his fist on the pile of files beside his head and cursed his existence. He hadn't wanted to work for the Ministry, not really. He enjoyed the meticulousness, the intrigue. He viewed each case as though it were a complicated puzzle and it was his job to align the pieces. Of course, it helped that it was the last thing his father wanted for him.

"Nott, there's a missive."

Theo huffed and shoved away from his desk. He stalked toward the ever-present Blaise Zabini and tore it from the bastard's fingers. He didn't mind Zabini, not really, but fuck he hated everyone lately. He hated Malfoy and his incessant need to snog Granger. He hated Granger and her creation of the Fear-Inducement Hex. He hated fucking Potter and his inability to choose a bloody witch.

"Oh, that's fucking fantastic," Theo growled while his eyes scoured the hastily scrawled words. "Are there any fucking Aurors here? Did they all fuck off? Where's Weasley? He'd be good for this."

"Peasegood is about and that Nigel bloke, I think."

Theo sneered nastily and thrust the letter against Zabini's burly chest. He watched impatiently while Zabini read and even longer for the shock to settle in. Relief settled over him as the parchment shook and for a moment, he didn't feel alone.

"Why?" Blaise whispered. "Why would he do this? What sense is that? Why would he bother with Muggles at all? This doesn't make any sense at all. Should we send an owl to the Malfoys?"

"Fuck all of that rot. We'll send for Weasley and Potter." Theo ruffled his own hair and wished he had gone home early.

His quill flew across the parchment as he bent over the desk. He detested requesting Aurors. He knew he probably should have referred it to Peasegood and Wolpert but he couldn't. He'd worked beside Potter and Weasley and he owed it to them. They had an understanding between them and the last thing any of them needed was interference.

"Nott looks angry."

Theo glanced up, relieved to see Weasley wander into the offices. He smirked slightly, recognizing the irony of relying on a Weasley after years of tension and waved him over. The Auror's sudden appearance did make things a bit easier and anything that saved him time was a sure winner.

"Where's the other idiot?" Theo demanded.

"Shagging his wife I imagine," Ron shrugged. "They seem to be doing that a lot lately and I for one wish they would stop doing it while I'm eating."

"Yeah, he's probably done now, from what I've heard it never takes long. Perhaps that's the source of contention in his marriage." Zabini chuckled and even Ron managed a small grin.

"No matter," Theo interjected. "We've received a letter from McLaggen. It seems he's the bloke responsible for the attacks. I can't pretend I understand the logic behind it but he's confessed. I need you and Zabini to pick him up for interrogation."

"McLaggen? Where's the sense in that?" Ron scratched his head and frowned. "Do you suppose he's been molesting witches as well? I mean, it would be nice to clear up these cases."

"Haven't a clue honestly. There wasn't a mention of it in his hasty confession. It merely said he realised the error of his ways and while he still harboured animosity toward Muggles, murdering Wizards was never his intent."

Weasley nodded slowly and looked to Zabini who only shrugged. There seemed to be a lot of fucking shrugging going on and it was grating on Theo's nerves. He was tired, bloody exhausted really, and the sooner the case was solved, the better.

"Let's just head over to his house."

Theo marched toward the doors and the two Aurors quickly followed. He knew they were curious as to his foul mood but he didn't want to discuss his fucking feelings, not with them, not with anyone. How on earth could he tell them he'd lost two loves. It was ridiculous.

"I think Greengrass running off with Longbottom has finally done him in."

Theo heard Zabini whispering to Weasley and ignored it. The man wasn't wrong but he wasn't right either. It was more than that. He had cared about Hannah and there were moments when he lamented the dissolving of their Contract but he had loved Astoria, loved her deeply. He knew he was just another suitor to her and the fact she ran off with Longbottom stung his pride more than his heart. He understood her obsession with Malfoy.

It was assumed they would marry from the time they were all at Hogwarts until Granger stepped into the picture. Theo had honestly believed he had a chance then. Astoria would finally see him as more than a calculated pawn and realise he loved her but that isn't what happened at all.

"He's too good for her. She's whiny and entitled. She's definitely shaggable but her personality leaves much to be desired."

As Theo stepped into the Floo he felt slightly better. It wasn't often he heard anyone say he was too good for anything and never once had the words stemmed from a Weasley. He didn't appreciate being the source of gossip but there were worse things to be said.

"I don't think he's been here for a while. It reeks something awful." Weasley gagged on the stench of spoilt food and rubbish as he stumbled from the Floo.

"Could have something to do with that body over there," Zabini muttered as he pressed a handkerchief to his nostrils.

Theo hastily inhaled through his mouth before realising his error. He could taste the rancidity on his tongue and nearly spewed on his shoes. He gagged and pushed through it. It would never do to vomit on the scene of an obvious crime.

He knelt beside the decomposing body of Cormac McLaggen and withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket. There was a phial beside the body and from closer inspection, it seemed to be poison. The black liquid dregs swirled in the bottom of the amber phial and the smell was nearly nonexistent.

"Poison from the looks of it. Never imagined McLaggen would be the sort to off himself."

"This feels wrong. He's obviously been dead for a while and the letter was only sent today." Weasley carefully stepped over McLaggen's body with narrowed eyes as he ventured further into the cottage.

"There are footprints in the dust near the back door," Zabini offered from afar.

"Fucking fantastic," Theo growled. "Foul play is obvious. McLaggen was a pompous arse but he wasn't homicidal. There are papers on the desk in the corner and the handwriting doesn't match the letter. This was sloppy work, which means either we're close or they fucked up. Here's what we need to do—"

"Pansy!" Weasley lumbered into the sitting room with wild blue eyes and dishevelled red hair.

"We definitely don't need to do Pansy," Zabini snickered.

"What? No. Shut up, Zabini! The safe house. McLaggen owned the safe house. His bedroom's been ransacked by the way, but we've got to get the girls out of there."

"Weasley, go. Take Pansy to Daphne and her mother. Fuck, we should have done that the moment Astoria eloped with Longbottom." Theo winced and rubbed his forehead. "Stay with them. Ward the safe house before you leave, just to err on the side of caution."

Theo took a cleansing breath to collect his thoughts while Weasley disappeared into the Floo. This was a disaster. He couldn't rely on his best Hit Wizards, not now. He knew he would be drawn and quartered if he dared to intrude on the Malfoys. Narcissa would hold his bollocks in her hand and tear them from his flesh if he suggested postponing the wedding.

"Assign Wolpert to guard the scene. We'll secure it, ward it, and toss a Stasis Charm around McLaggen. Smith can handle things until after the wedding. It's shit but even the Ministry won't take kindly interfering with the Malfoy wedding. It's a prime opportunity for them to take credit for disintegrating the remaining prejudices of the War."

"Dawlish too. He's a shit but he'll do his job. Fuck, I'm going to have to inform Williams and Robards. This is a bloody nightmare." Theo shoved his wand into his pocket while nodding at Zabini's suggestions.

"Nightmare? Not quite. I imagine it will be a million times worse once Hermione Granger discovers we kept valuable information from her." Zabini shuddered and tucked his handkerchief into the pocket of his navy blazer.

"Fuck my life."

 

* * *

 

"I'm going to be sick," Lucius moaned dramatically.

He shuddered with revulsion as he watched his son, his only son canoodle with a Muggleborn. His hopes and dreams were snuffed in the blink of an eye and his wife had aided in the disaster. It didn't help matters that he was surrounded by damask and chiffon but that was the least of his issues.

"I think it's lovely," Narcissa crooned. "You must admit they are a striking couple, Lucius."

"I can't pretend I've noticed," he sniffed. "Must they snog in my presence? I am fairly certain my supper shall make an explosive reappearance if Draco continues his exploration of his wife's thigh."

Lucius snapped his fingers and Sweetheart appeared with a fresh tumbler of firewhiskey while his son growled his displeasure. He didn't understand why his presence was necessary. He merely wanted to retreat to the safety of his study with his firewhiskey and his books.

"I remember the days when you were incapable of keeping your hands from my thighs." Narcissa sighed forlornly and returned her attention to place settings.

Lucius ignored her less than subtle gibe and dutifully perused china patterns with bleary eyes. He pretended to hem and haw over the limited choices and finally gestured toward something resembling birds. It was blue. He liked blue. Everyone liked blue.

"Silver and blue are classic colour combinations," he offered softly, hoping to ease her tension.

"You remembered," Narcissa sighed, her cheeks lightly tinged pink.

"Please don't shag at the table." Draco groaned.

Lucius glowered as his son unceremoniously dragged the Muggleborn onto his lap. He didn't like it, not one bit, but his son was ridiculously smitten. He had to admit Draco's demeanour had drastically improved since Marking the girl. He merely wished the choice wasn't quite so distasteful, though he knew better than to continue to voice his objections.

"Says the Malfoy with his hand up a witch's skirt."

"Mrs Malfoy," Hermione interrupted. "Have you considered a subtle shade of pink to offset the masculinity of silver and blue?"

"Brilliant, Ms Granger, utterly brilliant!"

Narcissa clapped her hands together much like an overly excited toddler and Lucius smiled. He spied the Granger girl staring at him from the corner of his eye and refrained from snarling in her direction. He preferred his wife abundantly happy. It eased his guilt, of which there was plenty.

"I still don't understand why we need to have such a lavish wedding when we're already married," Draco mumbled into Hermione's hair.

"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione sighed. She paused, swallowing loudly and Lucius inclined his head, encouraging her to continue. "Your mother hasn't a daughter, let her pretend she does, just for a day."

"Fuck," Lucius muttered and tossed his hands in the air, spilling the last dregs of his firewhiskey. "What? Don't look at me like that. I can't very well hate her after that, now can I?"


	23. 23

 

_ You’ve got as much charm as a dead pixie – Lucius Malfoy _

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled slowly.  She could do this. She could suffer through the silent judgement and scrutiny.  It was only one day out of her life. It might have felt like an eternity, but it wasn’t.  She could do this.

“Up, up, up! It’s going to be a big, big, big day!”

She could put on the dress.  She could sit patiently while her hair was abused.  She could affix a tight smile on shimmering blush lips.  She could walk down that aisle directly toward Draco Malfoy.  She could speak the words she’d already spoken. It was for show.  It was all for show and as long as she reminded herself of that small fact, she could do this.

“Her hair would be much prettier if she’d let us straighten it.”  Narcissa pursed her lips and viewed the golden brown curls with a critical, disapproving eye.

“I distinctly recall Draco shouting at you for even considering it.  In fact, I do believe he said he would shear his father bald and adhere the hair to your face.”  Pansy smiled sweetly and affixed yet another diamond barrette amidst the curls.

Hermione snorted and quickly covered her mouth.  She did not need Narcissa’s wrath on her wedding day.  It was already a precarious situation considering Lucius was half in his cups.  She fervently hoped Draco was faring a bit better than she.

“You’re not even trying,” Narcissa sniffed.

“I’m covered in taffeta.”

“It’s chiffon!”

“I’m doing this for you,” Hermione grumbled.  “I don’t know what more you want from me.”

“Try harder, see, like this,” Narcissa stretched her lips wide in some semblance of a smile.  “I’m smiling at you even though you’re aggravating me.”

“The Greengrasses have arrived.”

Hermione spun toward the demure voice despite Pansy’s snarls, surprised to see Hannah Abbott slipping into the bedchamber.  She hadn’t given the quiet Hufflepuff much thought, not really. In fact, she hadn’t given much thought to many of her former classmates and was shocked to discover Narcissa Malfoy had invited nearly everyone.

“Marguerite and Daphne?” Hermione inquired.

“And Johnathon as well,” Hannah sighed.  “I fear there will be quite the row before the evening is done.”

“Oh please, they’ll be nothing in comparison to Potter and Brown’s attendance.  Lovegood has stationed herself in the entryway. Rows and sex, just what any good wedding requires.”  Pansy cackled and downed yet another flute of champagne.

Hermione clenched her teeth, closed her eyes, and inhaled through slightly flared nostrils.  She wasn’t particularly fond of Pansy but for Ron, she would try. Her mental list of compromises could probably fill an entire scroll.

“The subtle art of aristocracy has been lost and replaced with the crassness of youth.”

Hermione clamped her lips together and merely stared at her future mother-in-law.  It was best to remain silent; she'd discovered that aeons ago. Narcissa Malfoy was formidable and manipulative; therefore, the wedding was an ostentatious affair that set Hermione's teeth on edge.

“Are we nearly finished?”

“Have you considered wearing the tiara?”  Narcissa’s blue eyes roved the bride once more, her hands fluttering near invisible crinkles in the chiffon.  “It is quite the tradition and—“

“I’ve had enough of traditions!”  Hermione’s cheeks flushed, eyes flashed, and hands clenched into fists as she exhaled through her teeth.  “I’ve remained quiet. I’ve attempted to do what you consider duty. I have had enough. I’ve bit my tongue while I’ve been prodded, poked, and criticized for this ridiculously opulent and unnecessary affair.”

“Unnecessary?”  Narcissa’s teeth gnashed together and even Pansy had enough sense to retreat.

“Absolutely unnecessary.  Malfoy and I are already bloody married.  We’re doing this to appease you; you and your traditions.  You guilted us into this. It isn’t what we wanted, what I wanted.  I wanted a simple affair with a handful of close friends and it’s turned into a fucking carnival!”  Hermione crinkled the chiffon in her hands and stepped toe to toe with the blonde matriarch. "I will walk down your aisle.  I will compliment the fairy lights. I will smile for photographs. I will sit down to your ridiculous twelve-course dinner. I will sit in your carriage and wave appropriately.  I will also drink entirely too much champagne and wish I could hex all your guests; let's not pretend they're mine. 

‘However, I will  _ never _ place your prejudiced mother’s tiara on my head.  I will  _ never _ live in Malfoy Manor.  I am going to work for as long as I like as I have absolutely no interest in sipping tea and gossiping.  I will have children when I damn well feel like it. My husband and I will choose our children’s names and you can wager that Scorpius is not a consideration despite your begging.  I have the right to live my life as I choose and you have interfered for the last time.”

Hermione exhaled, her fingers shaking, heart pounding in her throat.  She knew she shouldn’t have shouted. She knew she probably should have smiled demurely and acquiesced but she was at her limit.

"Cissa is speechless.  I don't think that's ever happened before."  Pansy swallowed the last dregs of her champagne, wide-eyed and slightly afraid.

Knuckles rapped lightly on the door, easily heard amidst the tension filled silence.  Hannah eased around the two angry witches, grateful she’d confiscated wands. She gasped, surprised to see Theodore Nott inches from her.

“It’s time.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re going to have to apologise.”  Draco swayed slowly, his arms filled with chiffon.

“I’m not apologising.  I’m not sorry. I know she’s your mother, but she’s ridiculous.”

“I didn’t say you needed to be sorry, love.”  He kissed his wife’s cheek and spun her slowly, his eyes darkening with desire.

Draco met his father's bleary eyes over Hermione's head and smirked as he bent to kiss her cheek.  There was something satisfying about seeing Lucius Malfoy stumble toward the champagne fountain, his face filled with revulsion.  Lucius never was fond of public displays of affection; despite the fact, it was a wedding.

“Margie, don’t be like this.” 

Johnathan Greengrass blubbered, his apple-round cheeks slick with tears as he lumbered after his wife.  Marguerite, on the other hand, sniffed with disdain and sneered. It was uncustomary to see the usually docile witch manifest anything other than a dutiful smile.

“I do believe I said this wasn’t the place for such nonsense, not that you listen.  Are you incapable of comprehension or simply stupid?” Marguerite wrenched his hand from her elbow with a hiss.  “At least you had enough sense to leave your daughter at home.”

“Our daughter, don’t be like this, please,” Johnathan pleaded.

“Our daughter is dancing the night away with that lovely dragon handler Weasley boy.  Your daughter shagged half of Hogwarts and still managed to come up roses. You should be pleased she’s a Longbottom.  They’re a respectable family.” Marguerite inclined her head and sipped her champagne, completely nonplussed with her husband’s subpar snivelling.

Draco narrowed his eyes as Johnathan angrily yanked on Marguerite’s arm and it was only Hermione’s subtle head shake that kept him from instigating a much bigger scene.  He didn’t like the man one bit and it was obvious the bloke hadn’t a shred of decency. He sidled closer to the couple, Hermione in tow, determined to eavesdrop and perhaps maintain the precarious shroud of peace.

“I explained everything to you ages ago,” Johnathan mumbled.  “You said you forgave me. She was nothing. She didn’t mean anything at all.  I couldn’t abandon my daughter. Her mother died. She was just a Mudbl—“

The resounding slap caused the orchestra to falter and the guests winced while the stringed instruments warbled.  Draco knew better than to meet his furious mother’s eyes; he could feel them boring into his back. He released his hold on his wife and stepped forward, intending to interrupt the row, however it seemed Marguerite Greengrass didn’t require his assistance.

“Yeah perhaps she was, but it didn’t stop you from dipping your cock into her, now did it?  She had a chance, Astoria did, to become a respectable witch. She had every advantage at her fingertips and yet you indulged her poor attitude and wondered how she had become such a slag.  She takes after you, love.” Marguerite inhaled deeply, a serene smile on her lips. “I want a divorce. I don’t really know what one is but the lovely Ms Granger, or should I say the new Mrs Malfoy, told me all about Muggles and how sometimes men are forced to pay their wives not to live with them.  I’d quite like that. Now, if you’re quite finished embarrassing me and humiliating yourself, I do believe I’d fancy a dance with that lovely black stallion.” Marguerite waggled her fingers at none other than Blaise Zabini and left her husband sputtering stupidly.

The animated whispers as the guests gossiped nearly drowned out the soothing tones of the orchestra.  It seemed Narcissa Malfoy’s perfectly planned garden party was nothing more than a dais for scandal. It was more than they’d ever hoped; it was perfect.  Draco knew his mother would disagree but anything that drew the attention from he and Hermione was divine and he didn’t waste a moment. He gathered her in his arms, mindful of the chiffon and smiled brightly as they spun in a lovely waltz.

“Your mother is glaring at me again.”

“I’m fairly certain that’s just her face now.”  Draco winked, his grey eyes full of promise.

Hermione shook her head yet her lips danced with a hint of a smile.  He was incorrigible and he damn well knew it. He actually puffed his chest and offered his arm and it was so ridiculously pompous, she laughed.

“Luna looks really angry.”

“Potter’s dancing with his own wife.”  Draco nodded politely toward Theo and Zabini and sat beside Hermione.

“They actually look…happy.”

“Look, we’ve got to sit through twenty-five courses and I really don’t want to focus on bloody Potter.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Hermione sighed and leant against his arm.

Draco scowled as his mother rang her stupid cunting bell.  He hated that bell. He'd always hated it and he thought perhaps he would escape unscathed on his wedding day, but no, of course, that couldn't happen, not with his mother.

He couldn’t keep his eyes from perusing his wife.  It was strange and he didn’t much like it. It was also stupid.  She was his wife before his mother’s ostentatious display and yet it suddenly felt real.  He stared at her hand when it slipped into his and he closed his eyes.

“Do you feel it?”  She asked, gently leaning into his side.

“Yeah,” he sighed.  He shook his head to clear the sudden fog, lascivious intentions sparkling in his eyes.  “You can feel it too if you ask nicely.”

He laughed lightly, her pink cheeks adding to her allure.  Gods, he was an utter and complete sap and it didn’t even bother him anymore.  He would have liked to say nothing bothered him but he was surrounded by a gaggle of witches and wizards.

“Later.”  Hermione winked and he had half a mind to drag her into the nearest broom closet.  “Nott and Zabini look entirely too serious for a wedding.”

“Yeah well, it’s that bloody case, didn’t you hear?”  Ron wobbled slightly on his approach and nearly missed the chair.

“You’re inebriated,” Hermione sighed, stating the obvious.

“Look,” Ron shook his finger and his eyes crossed as his finger turned into multiple fingers dancing before his watery blue eyes.  “It’s a wedding. You’re supposed to drink too much at a wedding, not to mention my sister. I mean, mum is beside herself, the DMLE thinks she’s just run off, and they’re too wrapped up in this bloody case to do fuckall about anything.”

Draco’s grey eyes darkened dangerously.  He snarled toward Theo and damned if the rabbity bastard didn’t turn on his heel and get lost in the throng of guests.  Hermione’s soft hand stroking his clenched fist didn’t abate his fury.

There was obviously a break in the case and they were excluded.  It was their bloody case! It was utterly reprehensible of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, not that anyone asked him. He supposed they were keeping their secrets in order to escape the wrath and far-reaching arm of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, not that he forgave them.

“This isn’t the time, Ron,” Hermione hissed.

“It isn’t the time for a row either but that certainly isn’t stopping Luna from having a go.”  Ron gestured drunkenly and licked his lips.

Draco held Hermione’s wrist tightly and imperceptibly shook his head.  Potter and Lovegood were on their own. He was not about to watch his wife insinuate herself into the mayhem.  His mother would skin them alive and laugh while she did it. Potter might not survive and well, it was about time someone managed to off him anyway.

He looked to his father but strangely, Lucius was whispering in Narcissa's ear and smiling.  It was disconcerting, to say the least, and sweet Salazar his mother blushed. She blushed. Draco swallowed the bile lodged in his throat and focused on Hermione's enticingly creamy cleavage.

“You can’t do this.  You can’t stay with her.  You belong to me!”

Luna Lovegood stood toe to toe with Harry Potter, blonde hair billowing out behind her, wand firmly clenched in a white-knuckled fist.  Her dress, while conservative for Luna’s standards, stood out amidst the sea of muted colours with its large flowers and butterflies. She shoved him and Harry stumbled backwards, knocking into a surprisingly silent Lavender.

“Luna, you keep saying that, but I don’t belong to anyone!”  Harry flinched away from a bright camera flash and found Hermione’s disapproving glare.

“You do!  You said it!  Does your word mean nothing?”

Harry’s temper flared, especially with Lavender quietly sniffling at his back.  He knew he had hurt Luna and he freely accepted the blame for his transgressions.  However, even he knew it wasn't appropriate to discuss such tawdry things in public, let alone at Hermione and Malfoy's bloody wedding.

“When the fuck did I say that I belonged to you?”

“After Slughorn’s party, have you forgotten?”

“Luna,” Harry groaned in exasperation.  “You had my cock in your mouth. I would have agreed to anything for you to keep going!  You can’t hold me to that!”

She slapped him then, slapped him quite hard.  The guests gasped, even as they pretended to be completely absorbed in their dinner.  It was deliciously scandalous and they could barely wait to send off their owls. The Daily Prophet would feature the Malfoy-Granger wedding as was expected but only a fool would believe Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood’s lover’s spat would not be mentioned.

“Ms Lovegood, as fond as I am of you, I do believe it would be best if—“

“Oh, I’m leaving,” Luna interrupted.  “Don’t you worry, Mrs Malfoy.” She turned to Lavender with fiery hatred in her blue eyes.  “Just remember Lav-Lav, when your finger is shoved up his arse as you’re sucking his cock, I was there first.”

“Luna!  That is quite enough!”

Hermione Malfoy escaped Draco’s grasp and marched toward her friend.  She pitied the woman but Luna’s outburst was absolutely unacceptable. She might not have wanted a large affair but she had one and she would be damned if it was going to be ruined with a sex scandal.

“Go home, Luna.”  Hermione waved over Theo, silently begging him to come forward.  “Theo will ensure you arrive home in one piece, won’t you, Theo?”

“Well, I wanted to stay for the cake.  I heard it was a replica of Hogwarts.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”  Hermione tossed her hands into the air.  “The hell with it. Do whatever you like. I give up!  I think we should all drink until we can’t remember our names.”

“I’m with the Mudblood.”  Lucius laughed and raised his glass with twinkling grey eyes.

 

* * *

 

Hermione marched away from her husband the moment she untangled herself from his limbs.  They had landed poorly as far as the Portkey was concerned and she blamed him for his wandering hands, not to mention his lips.  She heard his hurried steps behind her and refused to wait for him.

“Dammit, Granger!”

“Don’t start, Malfoy.”  Hermione crossed her arms beneath her bust and Draco appreciated the view of delectable breasts bouncing until her elbow jabbed his ribs.  “You shouldn’t have struck him. It was our wedding for Merlin’s sake! What were you thinking! Your mother—“

“Will be fine.  She’s probably bathing in the champagne fountain as we speak.”  Draco snatched her wrist and interlaced their fingers before she could pull away.  “He called you a, well he called you that word and you’re a Malfoy. You’re my wife and—“

“And I can take care of myself.  Your male bravado is utterly ridiculous.”

Draco rolled his eyes heavenward and yanked her toward the hint of civilization.  He felt her shiver and tossed his arm over her shoulders on the pretence of keeping her warm.  Frankly, it afforded him the opportunity to look down her dress and based on her knowing smile, she was not oblivious to his intentions.

“It was never about your inability to take care of yourself, Granger.  I’m your partner, in life as well as at work. As if I don’t know you can take care of yourself by now,” he scoffed.  “What would you have done then? Offered some scathing words and ignored it? Your wand was upstairs and you never would have jinxed him, not at our wedding.  I probably shouldn’t have punched him but come on, he was completely obliterated and probably won’t even remember what happened in the morning.”

“Violence is never the answer, Malfoy.”

“Violence is always the answer in our line of work, kitten.”  Draco leant down and licked her ear, his arm tight around her.

He chuckled lightly as she gasped.  He knew the chateau would impress her.  It really was quite beautiful as far as dwellings were concerned.  He’d kept the delicious little secret despite her begging and pleading.  It was definitely worth it.

“I don’t even know where we are,” Hermione breathed.

“Cote d’Azur; I know we only have a few days and you were a bloody banshee about it as it is, but I thought you’d enjoy it.”  Draco shrugged in that affected sort of nonchalance that drove her mad and gestured toward the grandiose chateau.

His arm slid off her shoulders, lingered on her back, and finally rested on her hip while her lips gaped open in pleasant surprise.  It wasn’t often he could honestly surprise her. She was the sort of witch that would badger him until he was forthcoming but not this time and his cocky little smirk attested to it.

“How long are we here?”  Hermione whispered, eyes wide as her gentle voice echoed in the marble foyer.

“Three days; it isn’t much but with the caseload and the newly discovered body—“

"Let's not discuss work, not here, not now.  I'm sure Theo is handling things marvellously."

Draco’s hand was gentle on the small of her back and he guided her forward, remaining silent.  He knew she would appreciate his silence as it allowed her to soak in every minute detail. He also supposed it wasn’t the best time to inform her he had purchased it.  He had dreams of vacating his Ministry position and perhaps even raising an ample family far from the prejudices of home.

She immediately scurried up the steps, laughing as her shoes clipped against the marble.  Her excitement was infectious and he dutifully followed her as she threw open every door, sighing in delight.

“We should have married here!”

“Why don’t we live here instead?”

“Wait, what?”  Hermione slipped on the marble in her haste to turn toward him and was immediately enfolded in warm, strong arms.

“There’s uhm, there’s an impressive library.  The view is breathtaking. Weasley might have mentioned your love of swimming so of course, there’s a pool.  There’s loads of space for family and friends and the Floo is connected to the Network.”

He swallowed hard and waited for her temper to flair, but it didn’t.  Instead, she threw her arms around his neck and smashed her lips against his.  It seemed Granger liked surprises after all.

“How many bedrooms?” She asked against his lips, her eyes closed.

“Seven, which is far less than the Manor and the Cottage for that matter.  My mother was absolutely aghast but the Grand Ballroom persuaded her that I hadn’t chosen a hovel.”  His hands were filled with taffeta and chiffon and he didn’t like it, not one bit. “I hate this dress.”

“Blame your mother.  This is too large for one person to upkeep and I’m really not fond of having elves despite their desire to serve.”  Hermione pulled away and gnawed her bottom lip, brows furrowed in silent contemplation.

“I hired a Muggle service.  You don’t even have to cook if you don’t want too.  I do think Jillie should come with us. She’s quite attached to you and I’m fond of her.  She’s quite good with children—“

Draco was incapable of recalling the rest of his prepared speech.  His brain had a tendency to clear his thoughts the moment Hermione’s soft, warm, deliciously pliable body was pressed against him.  It didn’t matter that she was nearly strangling him in her exuberance. Gods, he loved her.

“Bedroom.  Now.”

He couldn’t argue with that.  He didn’t want to argue with that.  It didn’t matter that all his plans of a leisurely tour and perhaps a titillating swim had been destroyed.  He didn’t need to woo her to bed. She was demanding and well, there was nothing sexier than that.

“The wallpaper is hideous,” Hermione mumbled against his lips.

“All the décor is hideous, close your eyes and then we can’t see it.”

Draco fumbled with the ties on the back of her gown, his frustration mounting as his fingers tangled in the knots.  It didn’t help matters that he was completely distracted by the glaring white mark shimmering on her neck. His teeth pricked his bottom lip and he groaned, finally rending her dress down the back, despite her garbled groan of protest.

“Slow down.”

Hermione crawled onto the enormous bed and Draco bit his knuckle.  Her knickers were sheer, fucking sheer, and that contraption that displayed the curve of her breasts, along with the stockings and garter, was nearly his undoing.  He didn't want to slow down!

“I can’t.”

Draco tore off his robes, kicked off his shoes and snarled at his belt buckle.  He couldn’t recall a time he’d ever undressed so quickly and he didn’t want to try.  His wife was reclined upon a mountain of pillows, dark curls cascading over her shoulders with bee-stung lips.  He had to have her.

“Malfoy, Draco, your mother served twelve courses.  If you jostle me excessively, there shan’t be any shagging at all.  Just this once, go slow. Just this once, pretend it’s an act of love rather than a hurried shag against a wall or bent over a desk or hidden away in a broom closet.  Next time, you can go back to calling me kitten and yanking my hair and spanking my arse and whatever else strikes your fancy, but please, just this once?”

Draco growled and it was probably the sexiest thing she’d ever heard.  It was primal, laced with need, and nearly made her reconsider her request.  He could see the indecision in her eyes as he languidly climbed over her supple body.

His fingers itched to tear touch her, yet he refrained.  It was downright torturous. Why should he be the only one to suffer?  He might as well share the pain. The pleasure would come in due time, it always did.

"What would you like, kitten?"  Draco practically purred against her ear as he braced his weight on his elbows.

She reached for him, as he knew she would.  He allowed her to grapple with his shoulders, tugging and pulling in quiet desperation.  He leant down slowly and brushed his lips against hers until she groaned in frustration.

“Stop teasing me,” she groaned.

“You requested slow, kitten.”

He waited until she withdrew her arms and captured her wrists in a single hand.  He yanked them over her head, pinning them to the feather pillow. Smirking, he wrenched her to the side and eagerly removed her ridiculous white contraption, freeing her constricted breasts for his perusal.

“This isn’t slow.  This is, this is torture.”  She arched her back, nearly pressing against his bare chest and thrashed her head.

“What would you like, love?”  Draco eased his way between her thighs and continued to deny her, revelling in wanton moans.

“Oh my gods, Draco, just fuck me!”  Hermione writhed and locked her legs around his hips.  “I lied. I can’t take it. I need you to fuck me. Just, just—“

“Just what?”  Draco nipped her bottom lip and drew it between his teeth, sucking hard.  “Details, love, I require details.”

His eyes darkened while his name escaped her lips in a desperate, needy scream.  He was strangely titillated by the power he had over her simply from withholding his cock.  He rotated his hips, hissing as her damp, ridiculously small, knickers chafed against his weeping cock.

“I want,” Hermione licked her lips, panting as she focused her thoughts.  “I want to be bent over the marble table in the foyer while you spank my arse until it’s red.  I want your fingers twisted in my hair until my scalp hurts. I want to feel your hand wrapped around my neck while you fuck me into the bed.  I want to feel your teeth pierce my skin an—fuck, yessss.”

Draco tore her skimpy knickers and plunged into her depths with a single thrust.  He groaned, unable to contain himself. His blond hair tickled her forehead and she whimpered when she felt his hand carefully close around her neck.  His eyes bore into hers and the only sound was skin against skin, mingled with their exhales.

“Does my little kitten prefer a bit of pain with her pleasure?”

Draco withdrew, despite her squawk of discontent, and released her reddened wrists.  He growled low and deep in his chest, drinking in her glistening flushed skin. He released her neck and glanced at the empty space beside her.

“I think I just might.” 

Hermione eagerly rolled to her side and tucked her knees beneath her.  He nearly came when she glanced over her shoulder and licked her lips. Instead, he twisted his fingers in her hair, just the way she liked and slapped her arse hard enough to mark it.

He quickly slid between her folds and tugged on her hair until her back arched spectacularly.  He leant over her, licked the shell of her ear and moaned as she clenched around him. She came quickly, her face buried in the duvet, and it was fucking perfect.

He wanted to race to the finish, desperate for release, but he wanted to see her face.  He needed to see her eyes widen and her lips part. He needed to sink his teeth into her throat and hear her scream.  He needed to feel her shatter around his cock one more time before he spilt into her; which is exactly what he did.

Later, as they lay entwined in a bundle of sweaty limbs, he mumbled against her lips.  He knew she couldn't decipher the words, yet that was unimportant. He was saying them and knew she could feel them.  He cursed himself for being a stubborn fool and cursed her just the same.

“I love you,” she finally whispered, so quietly he nearly missed it.

He smiled fleetingly against her hair and mumbled, “me too”, as his eyes fluttered shut, drifting off to sleep.

In the midst of a particularly delicious dream, which might have involved silk ties and a flogger, he awoke.  It was quick, catapulting him immediately to wakefulness, and he didn’t understand. Hermione was still nestled into his side and yet his anxiety was exceedingly high.

His grey eyes scoured the bedchamber, expecting danger in the shadows.  His muscles were tense, skin slick with sweat and his heart, his fucking heart refused to calm.  It didn’t make a lick of sense and he had half a mind to wake his wife but he refrained, barely.

Draco carefully reclined on his luxurious feather pillow, vaguely wondering when he had lurched upwards.  His clammy hand stroked Hermione’s exposed back and it calmed him somewhat. There was a noise and he couldn’t discern its origin until she tossed her arm over his hips and her body pressed into his side.

He swallowed with difficulty and pushed her knotted curls from her face, his fingers trailing down her cheek to her shoulder.  It was impossible, wasn’t it? Of course, it wasn’t, but she wasn’t ready; they weren’t ready. Rather than dwell on his tumultuous thoughts, Draco smoothed his hand down her side and finally rested just below her navel.  He tilted his head, listened to the gentle strum of butterfly wings, and closed his eyes, finally calm.

 


	24. 24

 

 

_ You don’t even need to ask, I’ve got you.  - Draco Malfoy _

 

* * *

 

Weeks.  Fucking weeks.  She still hadn’t told him.  He’d patiently waited, as patiently as he could, and yet she remained silent.  Surely she must know. How could she not? Was it possible to be that obtuse? He’d never suggest it loud, but Merlin knew the bloody thought was there.

 

Draco sighed heavily for the umpteenth time that morning.  He strummed his fingertips against his desk and perused reports with unfocused eyes.  It was one of the few days they did not work together and he hated every fucking moment of it.

 

He understood her dedication to the girls.  They had been traumatized and even if they couldn't remember all the details, they required care.  Of course, it had to be her, no one else would do, according to her. She understood their anguish considering she carried it as well.

 

"Dammit all to Hades!"

 

“Malfoy’s being melodramatic again,” Ron sighed.

 

“Shut up, Weasley.”

 

Ron snickered and nearly ruffled Draco’s hair, nearly.  He probably should have been focused on his reports but they were boring in comparison to Malfoy’s discontent.  He hadn’t anything better to do anyway.

 

“Not taking a holiday then?  I’m not surprised. Hermione doesn’t know how to rest, not really.  It was a nice wedding though.”

 

“We hadn’t the time and you damn well know it.  It was miraculous the Ministry gave us as much time as they did.”

 

“They wouldn’t have offered shit if you were anyone else.  I wanted to take Pansy to Italy, just an overnight sort of thing and Robards nearly lost his fucking mind.”  Ron’s quill scrawled across the parchment in some semblance of his signature.

 

“I still can’t believe you’re dating her.” Draco grimaced with the hint of a shudder, not that it bothered Ron.

 

“Oi! You married Hermione; you’ve got no room to talk.  Daphne’s dating my brother and my mum keeps humming and whispering about grandchildren.  It’s horrid.”

 

Draco was vaguely aware of the chatter around him and while Weasley’s voice rose above the rest, it didn’t matter.  He couldn’t focus. He felt warm all the time. It was consuming and horrific and he hated it.

 

“I think we lost Malfoy,” Theo quipped with an easy roll of his eyes.

 

The small gathering of Aurors laced with Investigators amidst the members of the Hit Wizards, snickered at the obviously distracted blond wizard.  They didn’t blame him. They merely assumed his thoughts remained with his new wife and they weren’t wrong, but they weren’t right either.

 

“Margie!”

 

Theo hissed a muted curse and suddenly found the space beneath his desk incredibly interesting.  He detested Johnathan Greengrass and he really wished Marguerite would stop bringing baked goods to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  There were only so many fucking scones a man could eat, unless of course, that man was Ronald Weasley.

 

“Groveling, just how I love to start my day.”  Blaise Zabini snorted and greedily dug into the basket Marguerite set on the edge of Draco’s desk.

 

“Good morning, Blaise.” Marguerite blushed and Ron nearly lost his breakfast.

 

“Pleasure to see you, Marguerite.”  Blaise kissed her offered hand, lingering merely to irritate Johnathan.

 

“Keep your hands off my wife!”

 

“I’d rather he didn’t.” Marguerite winked saucily and Blaise responded in kind, much to Draco’s irritation.

 

Draco covered his face with both hands and groaned loudly.  He had more important things to focus his attentions on than the Greengrasses.  He didn’t want to listen to their banter. He wanted to hex them, but he didn’t fancy a stint in Azkaban.

 

“Get out!”  He finally shouted, his fist slamming into a biscuit.  “Marguerite, see a bloody solicitor or don’t, I don’t even care.  Johnathan, perhaps if you weren’t a slovenly carousing fat bastard you wouldn’t be begging for affections.  The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has more important things to do than listen to this shit!”

 

Marguerite patted Zabini’s cheek and spun on her heel.  Draco growled low and long until Johnathan scampered after his wayward wife.  Draco knew Johnathan had heard the rumours about his heritage and that was enough to strike fear into the man.

 

“You owe me ten galleons,” Theo quipped with a quick slap to the back of Ron’s head.

 

“I’ll pay you when you find my fucking sister.”  Ron rubbed his head and shoved the remainder of his scone between his lips.

 

“Look, what the fuck do you want me to do?  Her belongings are still at the safe house. There are no signs of forced entry.  We’ve questioned everyone, even the Squib. He admits to seeing her and sorry to say, probably shagging her as well.  We haven’t a single fucking lead!”

 

Draco cleared his throat and avoided inquisitive blue eyes.  He didn’t want to voice it, not without Hermione to buffer Weasley’s anger.  She was late and that didn’t bode well either.

 

“Perhaps,” Draco began, “we should consider running diagnostics on the ashes of the Apothecary.”

 

“Granger petitioned the Minister for the testing prior to the wedding,” Theo mumbled.

 

“No.”  Ron shook his head violently.  “No, I can’t accept that. She isn’t…you’re not suggesting…she’s my sister, my only sister.  She’s not dead!” Ron gagged on the remnants of his scone and stumbled as he turned from his coworkers.  He ran from the offices without a backward glance and they let him.

 

While Draco was sometimes remiss to admit it, Weasley was his friend.  It was difficult at times to accept that little fact. They’d clashed as children to the utmost degree, but he supposed saving Molly Weasley’s life from the likes of Bellatrix will alter any difficult relationship.  

 

He wished it had been Hermione to broach the subject.  Weasley probably would have taken the insinuation better if it had been delivered with a bit of compassion and finesse.  Kindness wasn’t exactly his forte, but he tried, not that anything would soften the blow.

 

“Alright, well, on that note, we’ve caught a lead.”  Theo tossed back the last dredges of his cold tea and shuddered.  “Malfoy, you and Granger are tasked— “

 

“No.”  Hermione scurried toward them, cheeks flushed, blouse askew, and entirely too pale.  “Sorry Theo, I know this case takes priority but today is my scheduled day with the girls.”

 

“Fucking hell, I forgot,” Theo groaned.  “Weasley is out of commission, I suppose it’s Malfoy and Potter then, sorry mate.”

 

“I don’t understand why I’m forced to partner with fucking Aurors.”  Draco snarled and hastily yanked his wife into his lap, his nose immediately lost in her curls of disarray. 

 

“The Ministry is suffering from a shortage of Hit Wizards, that’s why!  Peasegood hasn’t reported yet and this can’t wait. Williams and Robards are in meetings with the Minister and the Muggle Minister to coordinate.  We’ve simply got to make do.”

 

"I'd rather go on the mission if that's any comfort."  Hermione leant against Draco's chest, though it was obvious she was less than relaxed.  "I've got to escort four emotionally compromised witches to their therapies. It would be five, but I fear we've seen the last of Ginny Weasley.  I'm assuming one of you has informed Ron about the reports from the Apothecary?"

 

Draco and Theo exchanged a guilty glance that did not escape Hermione’s attention.  Draco’s hands tightened around her waist, barely resisting the urge to demand answers in the face of her secrecy.  However, he knew it wasn’t the proper time, despite his impatience.

 

“Sorry, I’m late!”  Harry Potter wiped the sweat from his brow and looked quite apologetic.  “There was an issue with Lavender and I spied Ron crying in the lift. I sent him to Grief Services and dispatched an owl for a primary home visit for the Weasleys.”

 

“What did the report say, Granger?”  Theo nodded curtly to Potter and his shoulders slumped in defeat.  

 

He had failed.  He was entrusted to keep the handful of witches safe and he had tried his damnedest, but it wasn’t enough.  He might never forgive himself and vowed to bring the murdering fiend to justice.

 

"I haven't read all of it as of yet.  It only arrived this morning but I skimmed it quickly while on the lift.  It isn't definitive considering Fiendfyre destroys everything in its wake, but the analysis determined there were remnants of a witch in the storeroom.  It will take further testing to attempt to identify her by her magical signature but they really need her--" Hermione faltered, tears filling her eyes.

 

Draco kissed the side of her neck, his chin perched on her shoulder.  It was inappropriate but she required comfort. He knew better than anyone how much she detested displaying weakness.  However, at one time, Ginny Weasley had been her friend, her family, and the loss was great.

 

“Wand, yeah I assumed as much.  I sent Wolpert to retrieve it from the safe house.” Theo pinched the bridge of his nose, utterly defeated.  “The Muggle Minister received a tip concerning some sort of terrorist attack. Dawlish, of all people, noted the connection between the attacks— ”

 

“Child services,” Hermione interrupted, unable to contain herself.  “Of course! Nearly every Muggle attack has focused on the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children.  The Muggle counterpart must have a particularly scathing opinion toward them or even harbour intense animosity. Perhaps he wasn’t as protected as he believed he should have been.  The Wizarding attacks seem to be random but on closer inspection, they seem to be focused…on the Malfoys…”

 

“Granger,” Draco hissed, his thoughts jumbled and his fury threatening to bubble over in a cacophony of snarls and snaps.

 

“No, just think about it, Malfoy.”  Hermione squirmed in his lap, which aided in his distraction for a few seconds, despite the seriousness of the conversation.  “Borgin & Burkes, while your father was there no less. The Apothecary, which you were in the process of purchasing from disgraced Auror Williamson.  I overheard the Minister whispering about an exorbitantly large number of galleons that are missing from the Child’s Charity Funds, which your mother heads.  Gods, it was so obvious, I don’t know how I missed it! The only thing missing really is an Imperius cast upon your father to murder me.” Hermione laughed yet faltered quickly as no one joined her.

 

“Oh please,” Draco finally interjected, albeit tersely.  “My father’s been drunk for so long I’m surprised he can remember how to cast a proper Accio.”

 

“The Malfoys are rather macabre, aren’t they?”  Zabini curled his lip in faux distaste and winked at Theo, hoping to lighten the mood.

 

Theo paced, his lips moving silently.  Draco knew better than to interrupt him and braced himself for some sort of proclamation that would irritate him.  It was fucking tradition at this point. His family was being targeted by a madman and by extension that included his wife.  He wasn’t about to sit by, idly twiddling his thumbs and allow Potter to be the hero of the day, not again.

 

“Since we’re exceedingly shorthanded,” Draco swallowed audibly, choking down the distaste that laced his tongue.  “Perhaps we should consider reinforcements. Granger and Potter were quite adept at recruitment during Hogwarts and I imagine their old mates would be more than willing to jump into the fray, Gryffindors that they are.”

 

“No yeah, that’s brilliant, Malfoy!”  Harry smiled at him and Draco nearly tossed his biscuits on the prat’s shoes.

 

“Do it,” Theo ordered.  “Granger, keep close to the girls.  Malfoy, don’t look at me like that. She’s taking them on that blasted tube.  Daphne and Pansy are rather adept; I imagine she’ll be fine. She’s Hermione Gran-uh-Malfoy.  She can take care of herself, just ask her.”

 

Hermione shifted carefully on Draco’s lap and grasped his face with both hands.  Their foreheads met and they reached a silent agreement in their equally silent conversation.  He begged her to be careful and fucking safe for once and she, in turn, nodded.

 

“I need to speak to you later.  It’s rather important and it has absolutely nothing to do with decorating or your mother.  I swear it.” She pecked his lips lightly and extracted herself from Draco’s arms.

 

His pensive grey eyes followed her movements until she was gone.  He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit and it took every ounce of self-control to keep from chasing her down.  He imagined barricading her in their new home and confiscating her wand. It was a lovely thought, even though he knew it would never come to fruition.  She would escape and hand him his bollocks on a silver platter, which would never do.

 

“Hermione swore,” Harry whispered, bumping Zabini’s shoulder.

 

“Obviously Malfoy is a terrible influence on her.”

 

* * *

 

It was perfect, utterly perfect.  He couldn’t have been more pleased.  They were tremendously stupid, not that it surprised him.  The Ministry was full of failure; it always had been.

 

They were quick to condemn and quick to deny.  They were quick to conceal their transgressions and pretend.  Yes, they were particularly fond of maintaining their innocence when they were anything but.

 

“Rye, are you alright?  You don’t look—“

 

“I’m fine.  I told you I was fine.  We’re nearly done.”

 

“Do you ever,” the burly man paused, sighing quietly, “think of them?”

 

The blond wizard stared at his older brother, his face pinched as an uneasy feeling settled in his chest.  He didn’t want to discuss them; not now, not ever. It hurt too much. It was torment really. How on earth could he explain to his Squib brother the truth of it all?

 

“I try not to.  I know it sounds callous to say that, but we’re doing this for them.”

 

“I used to pretend I didn’t remember them.  It was easier. It’s not like I could tell my mates in the orphanage about my magical parents and brother.  No one would have believed me.”

 

Rye, the blond wizard, considered comforting his brother, but he hadn’t the words.  He was filled to the brim with poisonous venom that brewed hatred and revenge. His only solace was the knowledge that this particular act would bring the Wizarding world to their knees in grief.

 

“I used to ask about you.”  It wasn’t much but it was something and he felt his brother deserved that much.

 

“Did they, did they ever talk about me?”

 

It was strange hearing his older brother sound like a timid child.  He didn’t like it. He wanted the angry beast that enjoyed besting women and creating mayhem.  The weakness made him feel things he didn’t want to fucking feel.

 

“No, they didn’t,” he spat.  “They didn’t say fuckall about you after they dumped you at that Muggle orphanage.  They liked to pretend you didn’t exist. They took down every fucking picture of you and went along with their lives.”

 

“Why are you shouting at me?  It’s not my fault I wasn’t born special like you, like them.  I didn’t deserve what they did to me. I don’t even care that they’re dead.  How does that make you feel?” He towered over his brother and tried to remember when the word brother meant something to him.  “They abandoned me and now they’re dead. Am I supposed to cry about it? Where were they when I was crying? When I didn’t understand why they’d left me?  Where the fuck were they?”

 

Mathias Byrnes felt the tears sting his eyes but he didn’t wipe them from his cheeks.  He wasn’t ashamed of his tears, of his anger, of his unresolved anger toward his dead parents.  He didn’t want to play with Rye anymore. It was no longer fun. It had nothing to do with him and he hated that he thought it did once.  It was a vendetta and what point did that serve? It wouldn’t make his parents suddenly love him. They couldn’t; they were dead and he wasn’t certain how he felt about that.

 

“Why are you doing this with me if you don’t care?”

 

“It was a bit of fun, I admit that.  I didn’t mind it in the beginning. I was angry, really fucking angry, and watching those bastards scuttle about was satisfying.  They deserved it. They didn’t care about us, but now that I think about it, neither did my parents. I don’t think I want to be part of your revenge plans in the name of people that threw me away like fucking rubbish.”

 

Mathias knew he shouldn’t have expressed his anger.  He was bigger. He was stronger. He was a Squib and he never stood a chance.

 

“Shame you feel that way, really.  Sorry, brother.  _ Imperio _ .”

 

He sighed, pleased and disheartened all at once.  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to rise together through the ashes of destruction and finally be at peace.  His brother wasn’t supposed to turn on him. Matty was no better than those fucking Aurors that told him they were sorry.

 

What good was sorry?  It didn’t fix fuckall.  It didn’t bring back his parents.  It didn’t mend his broken life. It was just a word and it lost its meaning when it was all they offered.

 

He understood the plights of War but the Ministry excused their errors with a shrug and went on with their lives.  They offered him a job! It was insulting, a consolation prize, as if a well-paying job could stitch the tears in his soul.  It did offer him ample opportunity to plot his revenge. They never suspected him, not even the Granger bint.

 

They detested him.  He could feel it, see it in their eyes, and yet never once suspected him.  They didn’t know shit about him. They didn’t care about him, much like his parents hadn’t cared a fig for Matty.  The similarities were astonishing but he wasn't a fucking Squib. He was a wizard, a Pureblood wizard at that. He was born into opulence and opportunity and now he was nothing but yet another maniacal wizard hell-bent on revenge.

 

“Fuck it,” he hissed.  “I hope they all burn.”

 

He flicked his wand, growled explicit instructions and sent his brother on his way.  He knew the Unforgivable would hold; Matty wasn’t equipped to battle the likes of Dark Magic.  If everything went according to plan, Matty would be his perfect scapegoat and he’d walk away scot-free, basking in the glow of destruction.

 

He smiled and adjusted his pompous ascot just as a nervous group of familiar witches scurried past him without a second glance.  Gods, he was a brilliant mastermind. They were walking about, unescorted, almost as though they were sent by Merlin himself to tempt him and tempt him they did.

 

He dutifully followed them to the tube, humming a jaunty tune beneath his breath.  ‘ _ It was like Christmas _ ,’ he cackled quietly, his finger lovingly caressing the trigger in his pocket.  He was giddy with excitement and closed his eyes for a second, revelling in the moment.

 

Malfoy would never recover from the loss of his wife.  Potter was already useless, but the loss of his wife after they had reconciled was fucking delicious.  Weasley wouldn't fare much better, even if he was only dating Parkinson, he had first-hand knowledge of her prowess.  It would be devastating to live without her plump lips wrapped around his cock, or any cock for that matter.

 

He casually depressed the trigger, mirth bubbling in his chest.  His entire body tingled, nearly reminiscent of a particularly satisfying orgasm.  He wished he could see the aftermath, but there was much left to do. He hurried through the crowd of jostling Muggles, absolutely certain he heard Parkinson screaming.  Ah yes, it was a beautiful fucking day.

  
  


* * *

 

Lavender Potter clung to Hermione’s side, her breaths short and fast while she stared at the throng of Muggles.  She was scared, obviously, but Hermione sincerely wished the witch would relinquish her unyielding grip. Their outings were supposed to be therapeutic and lighthearted but lately, it had become a bloody chore.

 

She didn’t mind Pansy’s incessant chatter about filthy Muggles.  She didn’t mind Daphne’s obvious discomfort as she was jostled by passersby.  Astoria was delightfully silent since snagging Neville and Hermione couldn’t have been happier.  It was Lavender that drove her absolutely mad, not that she’d speak a word of it.

 

“You’re hurting her.”

 

Daphne tugged Hermione’s arm free from Lavender’s trembling hand with narrowed eyes and minimal patience.  While she was grateful for Daphne’s intervention, the influx of tears was completely unexpected. They were unwelcome as well, but Hermione wasn’t about to express such sentiments.

 

“Why don’t you girls go on ahead?”  She pointed toward the staircase and slowed her steps.

 

The moment Pansy's exclamations faded, Lavender turned to Hermione with a grateful smile.  She wrung her hands nervously and leant against the dirty wall beside her. Her lips parted numerous times until finally, Hermione sighed heavily in frustration.

 

"I-I'm sorry," Lavender whispered.  "I know you dislike discussing my relationship with Harry and I don't blame you for it.  It's just, I haven't got anyone else. Ordinarily, I'd owl Parvati but she's off with Padma on some travelling expedition.”

 

"Yes, yes, I'm not your first choice for a confidant.  I understand, get on with it then." Hermione tossed her hands in the air, obviously irritated.

 

“I saw you at St Mungo’s.”  Lavender crossed her arms and watched Hermione’s face pale.  “You were in quite the hurry. I know you haven’t told him yet and well, I just wanted you to know that I understand.”

 

She flinched away from Hermione’s vicious sneer and gulped.  Hermione invaded her personal space and poked the blonde’s chest with her forefinger and fire blazing in her eyes.

 

“I’m not doing this with you, not again.”  Hermione inhaled slowly and nearly wretched as the various scents violated her senses.  “Gods, I’m sorry, that was…unkind.”

 

“I deserved it.  I’ve apologised profusely but apologies are only words until actions prove otherwise.”  Lavender shrugged and attempted to conceal her pain. “I’ve been careful this go round. I suspected and waited.  It was bloody torture. I’ve been to St Mungo’s twice now and I’ve seen you each time, Hermione.”

 

Hermione blushed and avoided eye contact.  She refused to discuss it further. It was their Muggle Outing Day and Lavender was ruining it.  It was therapeutic for the small group of witches to wander about together and despite the complaints, it was always a lovely time.

 

“I wanted to be sure; there’s nothing wrong with that.  I can’t discuss this with you, not when I haven’t—“

 

The ground beneath their feet rumbled, knocking them sideways as screams of terror filled the air.  Hermione clutched Lavender against her chest and pressed them against the wall, her eyes fervently searching for the other girls.

 

“What’s happening?”

 

“Where’s Granger?”

 

“Don’t draw your wand!”

 

“Do you want to die?  _ Protego _ !”

 

Hermione glimpsed Daphne and Pansy arguing and for once she was thankful that Pansy Parkinson was her usual argumentative self as the Shield Charm encased the girls.  The influx of panicking Muggles made it impossible for her to withdraw her wand and she hoped against hope the wreckage wouldn’t tumble down upon their heads. She stumbled, falling to her knees as she was jostled but she managed to keep hold of Lavender.

 

The tube screeched into the station, plumbs of smoke escaping the creaking doors and Hermione’s world tilted on its axis as the ground shook violently.  She cradled Lavender’s head against her breasts as they fell to the side and whimpered when her back was struck with falling debris.

 

“Wand, where’s your wand?”  Hermione croaked as she choked on the dust and smoke.

 

“Can’t reach it,” Lavender sniffled, her voice trembling.

 

“Close your eyes.”

 

Hermione hadn’t anything else to offer the terrified witch.  Their predicament was dangerous and that was putting it lightly.  She couldn’t see anything beyond Lavender’s golden blonde curls but the acrid air burned her lungs with every inhale.  If death was to be their end, she didn’t wish to see it befall them.

 

She heard the screams and prayed the girls were safer than she and Lavender.  She clutched Lavender desperately as the air was filled with earsplitting wailing, an utterly horrific explosion, and billowing plumes of black smoke.  Her fingertips managed to sink into the waistband of Lavender’s skirt and she skimmed the smooth wood of a wand.

 

“Please, please, please,” she muttered.  “Gotcha,” she gasped the moment she closed her hand around Lavender’s wand.  “Protego.”   
  
The screams were nearly her undoing.  It was a menagerie of voices, young, old, man, woman, the terror encompassed all of them.  She was thankful she wasn’t injured, though they were trapped. Bits of rubble poked and prodded her back but she wasn’t bleeding or incapacitated.

 

“I can’t feel my legs,” Lavender whimpered against Hermione’s breasts, tears spilling from her eyes.

 

“I can’t feel mine either; I think they’re just constricted.  We’ll be alright. They’ll come for us.”

 

“What if they don’t?  What if they don’t know we’re here?  I’m scared.”

 

Hermione remained silent.  She hadn’t any words of comfort to offer and she didn’t wish to add to Lavender’s fears when she had plenty of her own.  Their pocket of safety was dark as pitch and quickly filling with smoke. It was difficult to breathe and moving was utterly impossible.

 

“I should have told him,” Hermione sobbed sloppily into Lavender’s hair.

 

“Me too.  I should have told him.  I should have dragged him to St Mungo’s with me.  We’ve come so far and now I might never have the chance— “

 

“Stop it.  They’ll find us.  They’ll come for us.  Malfoy will, I feel it.”  Hermione would have awkwardly patted Lavender’s back if her arms weren’t trapped.

 

“I hope the girls are alright.  I can’t pretend I care much for Astoria but Pansy and Daphne aren’t as horrid as I once believed.”  Lavender groaned and it sounded painful, which didn’t bode well for their situation.

 

“Pansy Cast the Shield Charm before everything crumpled on our heads.”

 

Hermione’s eyes drifted shut.  It was easier to pretend she wasn’t trapped beneath the ground if her eyes were closed, not that she could see anything with them open anyway.  She hated small places, always had. She supposed it was Fate’s wry sense of humour that left her trapped in a tiny space with Lavender Potter. She probably would have laughed if she could have drawn enough breath.

 

“I have to pee.”

 

“Please don’t pee on me,” Hermione begged.

 

They fell into silence, despite the cacophony that surrounded them.  Somehow, it seemed less, muffled almost, and Hermione hoped it was her imagination rather than waning senses.  She struggled to keep her eyelids from falling shut and eventually segued into a dreamlike state.

 

She didn’t hear the pops of Apparition.  She didn’t hear the orders barked by angry wizards.  She didn’t hear much of anything, though she was vaguely aware that the multitude of screams had muffled significantly.  Her subconscious clung to hope even as the wreckage pressed against her.

 

“Granger!”

 

Lavender grunted, her nose running, and her bladder uncomfortably full.  She attempted to turn her head, which in turn caused Hermione to hiss painfully.  The Shield Charm kept them alive but they couldn’t pretend it kept them comfortable.

 

“Stop moving.”

 

“Someone called your name, you bossy bitch.”

 

“Call me a bitch again and I swear I’ll pee on you.”

 

They probably would have scuffled if they could have moved.  Instead, they settled for micro-movements and grunts of discontent.  Their fingers flexed, which was something, but it wasn’t nearly enough to express their irritation with each other as well as the horrific conditions.

 

“Granger!”

 

“Stop shouting, Malfoy.  You’re not helping.”

 

Hermione gasped and choked on the acrid air, unable to respond to her husband’s desperate call.  She exhaled forcefully which provided her with a modicum of space between her breasts and Lavender’s head.  Of course, small bits of debris were dislodged and rained upon their heads, scraping her cheek in the process.

 

Dust clogged her nostrils and in Hermione’s haste to draw breath, tiny shards of broken rock were lodged in her throat.  She felt her airway constricting and her eyes widened in the darkness. She heard people, wizards even, hurriedly sifting through the rubble and hoped they’d find her before it was too late.  

 

Lavender slumped against her, still and silent.  She sniffled, gagging and spitting but it was no use.  She couldn’t breathe. Her cramped hand spasmed and dropped Lavender’s now broken wand at the same moment Lavender’s bladder gave up its fight.  Hermione probably would have cried if she had enough air; instead, her lungs burned and her lips parted in a tortured silent scream.

 

“Potter, I think, well uh, there’s a woman just there…”

 

“No, you’re wrong.  It can’t be…I would know, I mean, she’s my wife.”

 

“She’s got Granger’s scarf clenched in her fist.”

 

Draco Malfoy fell to his knees and it was Harry Potter that kept him from pitching forward.  The pain was damn near overwhelming but he still was unable to feel the loss of her. He felt as though he should, but what the fuck did he know when everything he’d been told thus far had been a lie?  

 

“S-she could be alright, Malfoy.”  Potter’s voice trembled and it took everything Draco had to keep from tearing the bloke’s head straight off.

 

“Check the woman and fuck off, Potter.”

 

It was impossible to smell anything beyond the wreckage.  His nostrils were filled with the heavy scent of smoke, twisted metal, and blood.  It wasn’t her blood; at least he didn’t believe it was, but he couldn’t be sure of anything.  He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t think. He could barely fucking breathe and Potter wasn’t helping matters.

 

When Draco finally lifted his head, he swallowed hard, overcome with emotion.  He blinked away the tears he didn’t want leaking from his fucking eyes and hissed angrily.  He felt his fangs prick his bottom lip and knew his eyes were a violent shade of darkness and he didn’t care.

 

“I feel guilty,” Potter whispered as he clutched the dead woman to his chest.

 

“I don’t care.  Is it your wife or isn’t it?”

 

“I know this woman in my arms.  I cared about her at one time,” Potter sniffed and wiped his stupid green eyes.

 

“I will kill you,” Draco snarled as the tremors rocked through his body.  The change was coming; he could feel it simmering beneath the surface.

 

“S-she isn’t Lavender and I’m relieved.  I’m fucking relieved. I’m holding Luna Lovegood’s dead body in my arms and I’m not wondering why she was here or what happened.  I’m thankful she isn’t Lavender. I fucking love my wife, Malfoy.” Potter gently laid the serene deceased woman on the battered ground and backed slowly away from Draco, lips parted, red-rimmed eyes wide. 

 

Draco’s talons tore his trousers as he unfolded his body in order to stand.  He cracked his neck and felt the heat in the palm of his hands, while his breaths escaped in great puffs.  His chest rumbled, teeth gnashed, and the growl that escaped startled the Aurors desperately levitating bits of wreckage.  He inhaled, nose twitching, hope brewing in his soul.

 

“GRANGER!”

  
  



End file.
